Curiosity
by MonicaMcFLYx
Summary: Draco Malfoy was the epitome of everything Astoria Greengrass loathed - and the feeling was mutual. Draco hated everything Astoria stood for. But when they're forced together, they see they're more alike than they thought. Will Draco risk everything to save the love of his life? Or will his assignment - and his loyalty to the Dark Lord - take precedence over his heart?


**Curiosity**

A Harry Potter HBP Fan Fiction

Ft. Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy

Written by Monica Fernandez

©2009

**Prologue**

What do you think of when you hear the term 'Slytherin'? Let me guess. You think: Draco Malfoy. Evil. The Dark Lord. You think: Cunning. Deceitful. Smug. You associate Slytherin with superiority; with pride; with intolerance of anyone less than who they are. That's the stereotype. That's the overall image of the Slytherin House.

But what about those of us who don't fit the stereotype? After all, does _everyone _in your school fit a certain stereotype? There are people who don't fit, right? People who don't belong.

I guess that's me. That's where I've led my life.

My name is Astoria Greengrass. I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm a Slytherin. But in all honesty, I'm anything but.

So here it is: The story of my life. Perhaps not the most exciting autobiography. But it does have its share of ups and downs; twists and turns. If you feel like it, read on.

After all, don't you want to hear about how I fell in love with Draco Malfoy?

Yeah. I thought so.

**Chapter One**

But maybe we should start with the basics first. Just to give you a little bit of background before I divulge in my epic love story, which wasn't so much love as it was a lie. But I'll get to that later.

I was born on September 16th as the second daughter of Caroline and Timothy Greengrass, and younger sister of Daphne, who was only one year old at the time. Growing up in this family was definitely not the fairytale childhood that most spoiled pureblood Slytherins talk about. I couldn't help but notice my parents constantly tried to make me do things I didn't want to do. And I'm not talking about the simple 'eat your vegetables; they're good for you' crap. My parents showed me things that normal parents don't show their kids. They taught me spells that withered all of our plants; showed me endless amounts of propaganda emphasizing the family's superiority, and how I must maintain that legacy. You'd think, after being trained so young, that I'd be a mindless robot by now, right? I'm surprised I turned out this way myself.

Daphne seemed to absorb everything my parents showed us, with no questions asked. I guess that's what made us so different. Even as a child, I questioned _everything_. I constantly asked my parents why, why, why. _Why_ were we better than everyone else? _Why_ did we have to learn spells like this? _Why_ can't we talk to Muggles? I wanted answers. And I never got them. Maybe that's why I'm so blatantly defiant of them. I had to find out the truth all on my own.

When I was a child, my parents often held parties at home – parties I wasn't, under any circumstances, to attend. And, of course, me being my curious self, I just _had_ to see what all the fuss was about. So I peeked around the stairs one night, and saw something that I would trade my life to forget.

I was eight years old when I decided to spy on my parents. As I climbed silently down the stairs, a loud burst of laughter erupted from the gathering hall where we held all of our parties. The spacious room was filled with people, all forming a circle and looking down at something in the middle that I couldn't see. I never remembered hearing laughter like this from my room. Later I found out that my parents had sound-proofed my room to prevent me from hearing anything that went on down here. It was somewhat merciful; but it wasn't for my mercy that they cast those enchantments. Most likely, it was to prevent me from hearing any important information that was being shared. Most party nights, they even kept a house elf at my door to prevent me from coming down the stairs – again, not for _my _protection, but for theirs. On this particular night, the poor elf was fast asleep at the entrance to my room, allowing me the freedom to roam the house as I pleased. At least, until I got caught.

I sat down on a stair with enough height for me to stay out of sight, yet still allowed me to see what was going on. And I watched as the image of my so-called perfect family was shattered.

"Please, _please_," whispered what I then registered as a person, from the center of the room. He [I deduced that it was a he] sounded tired – hurt, perhaps? He seemed to be pleading for something. But for what?

"You really think we're going to spare your life after everything we've already done to you?" came a cold drawl from the far end of the circle. I squinted, and was able to see that every single person in that circle was wearing the same mask – shiny and silver, it glinted in the light the chandelier had cast around the room. The party-goers were wearing regular dress robes, however, so I thought maybe it was just a party favor. Hey, I was 8 years old at the time. How was I supposed to know those masks were for secrecy and deception?

"I promise I won't tell anybody!" the man said once more. Another burst of laughter.

"Who would believe you, even if you _were_ able to talk?" the same voice taunted. It was female, and sounded oddly familiar. However, I couldn't be so sure – the mask might have made her sound differently. "We're not concerned with our secret. However, it would be disrespectful to grace us with your presence, only to depart so quickly," she continued. I then noticed that someone in the middle of the ring had their wand out and was pointing at the subject in the middle of the circle.

"And we don't tolerate disrespect," a male voice said, and I could have sworn it sounded exactly like my father. It also seemed to come from the person standing with his wand out. A split second later, this man hissed, "_Crucio_!" And the screams coming from this man were the most terrifying screams I had ever heard in my entire life. Maybe that's why I started screaming myself.

As one, the entire congregation spun to stare at me in utter shock and anger. And, to my dismay, my parents pulled off their masks, revealing their locations – and confirming my suspicions. The two people who I had been listening to were my parents.

They rushed forward, but not to help me. Only to silence me. And they did just that. They cast a Silencing Charm on me, so my mouth was open in a silent scream of horror, and they dragged me roughly back up the stairs. Before I was imprisoned in my room once more, I was able to see a flash of green light – and the screams stopped immediately.

But they never _really_ stopped. I still heard them. And I still do. To this day, that moment in time remains my single, solitary motivation to keep myself as far away from the Dark Arts as possible.

**Chapter Two**

Once back in my room, my parents did not attempt to calm me down. My mother didn't take me in her arms and comfort me. No – they _scolded_ me. Yelled at me for being out of my room, telling me that it was my fault I had to see that because I was so damn curious. Tears were streaming down my face, but my parents paid no heed.

They continued their tirade, reprimanding me for ruining their reputations, for embarrassing them in front of their friends and colleagues, for ruining a perfectly good sacrificial moment. They mentioned my utter lack for the rules, my inability to absorb their propaganda like Daphne did. They told me what a disappointment I was, and how I had better keep my mouth shut about what I saw, or else I'd suffer horrible consequences.

It was a side to my parents I had never seen before. But it was also the side that I would be met with for the rest of my life.

The entire time, my tears never subsided. I felt like I was going to choke on my own silent sobs. I was _terrified_. And my parents didn't care.

They didn't lift my Silencing charm until the next morning.

From that moment on, my parents never acted the same again. Around me, at least. They continued to spoil Daphne rotten, pouring more propaganda into her head. She wouldn't believe a word I said when I tried to tell her what I saw. And so, for the first time in my life, I was completely alone. At 8 years old, my family had turned against me.

It was around this time that I discovered dance.

It happened entirely by accident. My mother was taking me down to Diagon Alley for a few errands. Well, _dragging_ me, more like. Ever since that night, I'd kept my general distance from my parents. They'd become monsters in my eyes. And honestly, I don't even know why my mother dragged me along on this random trip to Diagon Alley. But I'd forever be thankful.

As we walked down the London streets and crossed onto Charing Cross Road, I passed by a dance studio. The wide, open windows showed the spacious room lined with mirrors and bars around the perimeter. A class was in session at the time, and I watched in awe as the elegant dancers flew across the room in perfect rhythm, their moves flawless and synchronized. It was mesmerizing, and I stood there watching them for a full three minutes before my mother even noticed I was missing.

Annoyed, she returned and dragged me away [literally] from the window, scolding me once more for watching that 'Muggle filth' and their 'pointless hobbies.' She seemed peeved that I was so intrigued by this hobby – and that was one of my deciding factors to try it.

Every day after that for a week straight I snuck out of my house and watched the dancers through the window. It wasn't until the following Tuesday afternoon that the instructor opened the door, and asked me to come in.

"You've been watching us a lot lately, love," he said kindly, kneeling down so he was level with me. "Would you like to try?"

It was my first encounter with anyone that wasn't a pureblood witch or wizard. My very first encounter with a Muggle. My parents had led me to believe that they were horrible creatures – that they were ugly and not worthy of our time or attention. But as I observed this kind man, I realized that once again, I had been duped. Muggles weren't unworthy at all, nor were they ugly, nor were they mean. If all Muggles were just like this man, it seemed to me that _we_ were the vain ones – _we_ were the ones unworthy of a _Muggle's_ time or attention.

Shyly, I nodded, and the nice man led me out to the front of the dance floor. The other dancers surrounded me, towering over my fragile, miniscule 8 year old figure. I stared at myself in the mirror, feeling so completely out of place – a mediocre beginner surrounded by seasoned professionals. But together, they taught me everything I know today.

I kept my passion a secret from my family. They hardly ever noticed I was gone, anyway. For three years, I attended that dance studio, learning all different styles of dance to all kinds of music that I had never heard before. I was introduced to Muggle functions; to Muggle customs; even to Muggle money. In addition to working with the older dancers, I was able to dance with children my age – children, it seemed, that were all Muggles, just like the rest of them. It seemed as though _I_ were the odd one out – that _I_ was the only one different, rather than having them all different from me. But despite the fact that I was a young witch, I still felt right at home. For the first time in my life, I had friends. And I had a reason to live – a passion and drive that kept me going, even through the hardest times of my childhood, when my family could care less about me. I had found my outlet. Dancing had become my life.

Without even knowing it, these people had become the center of my life. They helped me through enduring the constant shit that my family gave me. Just knowing they were there; that they were around; gave me enough motivation to last the night, even when my parents still held their 'parties,' and I knew exactly what was going on. I'd stay up late in my room, practicing my tendus; my plie's, my pirouettes. And as I grew older, so did my dance moves. I grew into arabesques, and battements; was able to do the splits, and eventually, even work with point shoes.

But ballet wasn't the only dance experience I received. As an active member of the studio, I was welcome into any class I pleased – and I usually spent hours upon hours in that spacious room, remaining put as class upon class arrived and exited after each session. I tried out jazz, and hip hop, and even break dancing. I fell in love with contemporary, and Broadway, and even had a chance to do a few ballroom dances – the Waltz, the Foxtrot, the Quickstep, the Tango. I was learning so much over the course of three years. So when my acceptance letter to Hogwarts arrived by owl, I couldn't help but feel crestfallen. Spending 9 months out of the 12 month year away from my dance studio? Away from my friends, and my passion, only to be holed up with students of magical ability, who all probably were exactly like my family? I wasn't particularly excited, and often I couldn't stop myself when I wished I was merely a Muggle.

But September First came, despite my desire for it not to. I had already said goodbye to my friends – and thanked them for changing my life. When they asked where I was going, I told them it was a boarding school somewhere up in Wales, and that I would return in the summer. It was a tearful goodbye.

So as I boarded the scarlet steam engine at Platform 9 ¾, I stared listlessly out the window, listening with little interest to the mundane chatter and excitement from the other several hundred students that were just like me. Daphne, who was already going into her second year at the school, had gone off to find her friends, and I preferred it that way. My sister and I never saw eye to eye ever since she refused to believe what I saw. But because of my anti-social behavior, I found that, as the train pulled out of the station and bounded its way north, I was riding to the school by myself.

**Chapter Three**

I don't think I was ever able to find friends like the ones I had back home. Being at Hogwarts seemed so unfamiliar to me; as though all this time I'd been a Muggle, and I was transported to this world that told me who and what I really was. Being alone at this stage in my life was terrifying and heartbreaking. I had no idea what I was doing, and I had no one there to help me. Or at least share the experience with. But it was only my first day – and it wasn't really a school day anyway. I'd spent the entire day holed up in my train compartment. Perhaps when classes started, I'd be able to connect with more people.

I went through all of the same routines that I'm sure you are already familiar with. The whole first years crossing over the Black Lake scenario; Professor McGonagall freaking us out with the whole Sorting Hat Ceremony speech. I'd already heard all about Hogwarts from my parents, and from Daphne, so I pretty much knew which House I was to be sorted in.

But did I _really_ want to be a Slytherin? I knew that it would disgrace my family – shame them irrevocably – if I was Sorted into any other House. I'd already proved to be a rebellious disappointment. Why stop now? Slytherin had such a horrible reputation; it seemed like the entire House was comprised of soon-to-be clones of my mother and father. I didn't want to be amongst them. And after hearing the general description of those Sorted into the Slytherin House, I really was unable to find a bone in my body that was worthy of being in Slytherin. _Me_, a pureblood witch, fraternizing with Muggles all day for nearly four years of my life. _Me_, the Greengrass family rebel, [though could I really be called a rebel at 11 years old?] defiantly disobeying my parents; blatantly refusing to accept, participate, or condone the horridly selfish, vain acts that my parents expected of me? How could I _possibly_ be suited for Slytherin?

But as I stood in that sea of first years, waiting for my name to be called, I couldn't help but wonder what everyone else would think. What would people say if a Greengrass _wasn't_ Sorted into Slytherin? How would they react? Would they be surprised? Disappointed? In shock? Would they think of me as some failure? And my parents – as much as I hated to think of them, I couldn't help but speculate _their_ reactions. If I was Sorted into Gryffindor, would they do something? Would they disown me? Kick me out of the house? Or would they simply just stop talking to me altogether? Either way; no matter what situation I picked, or whatever circumstance I spun it, the results were always the same – and none of them were good.

I _never_ wanted to be like my parents, and I was determined to remain untainted and free from their vanity. But I still wanted to be their _daughter_. I still wanted to have a home, and a family. I didn't think I would survive if they cut me out of their lives altogether – and I knew they were just itching to do so; it seemed like they hated me so much.

My mind was still extremely conflicted when my name was called. Hesitantly, I made my way up to the three-legged stool. Before Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on my head, I glanced around at the four House tables, each with about 300 or so pairs of eyes staring at me. I looked over to the Slytherin table and saw my sister watching with mild interest. I looked up and down the table, and I could tell that they all recognized the last name. Would Little Greengrass turn out to be just like her sister? Or would she be an entirely different person?

The ratty old hat was finally placed onto my head, and instantly I heard a voice in my ear, as though someone were whispering to me from behind.

_ "Ah, another Greengrass,"_ what could only be the Sorting Hat murmured, mulling over my lineage. _"I sense a lot of defiance and rebellion within you,"_ it said rhetorically. _"I also can feel uncertainty. Tell me, where do you _want_ to be Sorted?"_

"_I DON'T KNOW!"_ my mind screamed. Externally, I bit my lip as the audience began to murmur. I could see it in their eyes – I was taking an awfully long time to Sort. Was something wrong? Why would it be so difficult to place a Greengrass?

My eyes ran over the tables once more, rapidly weighing out the pros and cons to each House. However, while the pros changed, the cons all remained the same. And each and every one was 'It's not Slytherin.' But it wasn't a con for _me_. It was a con for everyone else. Where ever I went, I just wanted to be accepted.

The Sorting Hat seemed to decipher my thoughts as I sat on the stool dejectedly. _"What's going to happen to me?"_ I asked it in my mind.

_"Everything is all here. In your mind,"_ he replied cryptically before shouting out, for the entire hall to hear: _"SLYTHERIN!"_

I knew it was coming. But it was still devastating to hear. As the Hat was taken off my head, I slid off the chair and headed over to the Slytherin table, trying to keep my face straight and not reveal how disappointed I was to have been placed in the House. Daphne was staring at me – but I couldn't tell if she was proud, or angry.

A few older Slytherins welcomed me to the House, and I half-smiled to let them know I acknowledged their welcome. But I knew that none of them would be my friends. I knew that most of them only cared about themselves. And that's what made me feel so completely alone.

As I glanced up and down the table at my brand new classmates that I would be spending seven years of my life with, I noticed a very bright head of platinum hair – a stand-out trait amongst the sea of brunette and raven colored hair. Even among a few blondes, this boys' hair was whiter than them all. But it wasn't _stark_ white – not like elderly man white. It was platinum. He looked young – couldn't have been more than a year older than me. Little did I know I was staring upon the one boy who would change my life forever.

**Chapter Four**

I don't think I need to go into detail about every single year at Hogwarts. You know the routine. But with each passing day, I exhibited my empathy; my habitual care and concern. I constantly exercised my curiosity, always asking questions in the classroom, which gave me a rather unpleasant reputation among the rest of my classmates. But it wasn't until my fourth year that everything fell to shit.

For the past three years I had a measly reputation at the school. I still had no budding relationships, and as the Wizarding World grew more dangerous, I still had no one to confide in. The other Slytherins considered me odd and maybe even slightly raving, and I never knew what to say to anyone. Despite having been going to the school for three years, I still knew nothing about virtually everyone in that castle.

But when my fourth year came, so did the boys. Apparently I had become attractive over the summer [though, despite spending hours staring at my reflection in the dance studio, where I spent nearly every day of my summer holidays, I definitely could not see what had changed]. It's not something I'm _proud_ of – but I couldn't deny that Slytherin boy after Slytherin boy kept asking me out.

But it became clear that all they wanted from me was sex. And so I turned down each and every one of them. And soon it became a contest to see which one of them could conquer me. I hated every single second of it – but my sister was jealous, despite my utter lack of desire. She just couldn't accept that all of the boys seemed to be flocking to me, and she loathed the fact that I turned them all away. It seemed like I had become some sort of spectacle – a showgirl that had stolen the thunder from every female Slytherin slut. Because, according to the guys, I was 'hard to get,' and 'a challenge' that they were unable to get from the rest of the desperate girls in my House.

But I _wasn't_ playing hard to get. I really and truly did not want any of the boys who came to court me. And I tried to convince Daphne of that. But, once again, she refused to believe me.

And so she spread the rumor. Well, it wasn't so much a rumor as it was the truth. But she spread it nevertheless – how I spent all my time with Muggles during my holidays; how I was an utter disgrace to the family and to the pureblood name. Before then, I had never flaunted my lack of desire and compatibility for this House. I let everyone else come up with their own conclusions. But Daphne sealed my fate the moment she opened her mouth. And just as quickly as it started, everything ended. No one talked to me; no boys came looking for me [not that I minded.] From that moment on, I would always be known as the Slytherin Disgrace.

It's one thing being virtually invisible, one thing being seen as odd and slightly mad. It's a completely different thing to be hated, to be shunned, to be abused.

Normally I would have cracked; I would have been broken under the constant teasing, the shunning, the horrid name-calling. It was absolutely awful to have to go through all of that alone. But I had made my decision to be who I am – I chose to go against everything these students stood for, everything they have ever known. I sealed my own fate. So instead of running away from it, I kept my head high. And I took it. I had taken enough shit from my own family – a few nasty comments from people I didn't even know meant nothing to me.

I feel like I've had to grow up oddly fast. At 8 I was cut off from my family. At 14 I was cut off from the world. I had no place to go, no one to turn to. I didn't belong. And every single person in my life had no problem telling me that. But I already knew. However, instead of crying about it, I was _motivated_ by it. Motivated to prove everyone wrong – to show _everyone_ that just because I was different didn't mean I was inadequate. I was eager to show everyone in my life that I could be anything I wanted to be, and that I wasn't afraid to be who I am and stand up for what I believe in. I know it sounds so totally cliché – but it's the truth. Though I wanted to so desperately, I never ran away from the things that were inhibiting me from enjoying my life. Instead, they gave me the extra push I needed to achieve the goals I had set for myself.

So as I lived my life in the not-so-shadows [because while I avoided purposely being the center of attention, other Slytherins felt the need to point out my complete and utter displacement in this school as often as they could], I concentrated on getting out of Hogwarts with the highest grades in my year. I worked harder than anyone to master the spells and potions that each Professor taught us. I was so desperate, as I have already mentioned, to prove everyone wrong; to be able to say 'If I'm such a fuck up, then why am I doing better at this school than you are?' And most of the time, I earned my right to say that. But, being me, I never did. Say it, that is. I repeated it over and over in my head – but I never said it out loud. What would the point be in that? It would only start a meaningless fight that would solve nothing, and probably even worsen my reputation, if that were even possible. But just _knowing_ that I was doing better in my classes helped me endure the relentless taunting.

Luckily, I only had to live with it for a year and a half, before Draco Malfoy came and saved my life. Quite literally, as a matter of fact.

**Chapter Five**

It began the summer before my fifth year at Hogwarts. At the time, Draco was going into his sixth year. The previous June saw events that would be forever written in magical textbooks all around the world – the return of the Dark Lord. Despite the fact that Harry Potter [whom I held in rather high regard], and Professor Dumbledore were constantly preaching His return, I didn't want to believe it was true. I never doubted them – but if the Dark Lord really was back, what would that mean for my parents? For the entire magical community? I wasn't ready to face that future.

But even as I contemplated the new life ahead of me, I knew that Draco Malfoy had it so much worse.

Whilst at school, Draco and I never talked. We barely knew anything about each other – and if anything, I probably knew more about him than he would ever know about me. Living my life the way I have, I'd grown used to sitting and watching. Observing. Noting. It didn't take long for me to figure Draco out. To deduce that he was nothing different, if not much worse, than the rest of the Slytherin boys. The entire House seemed to revolve around him. He was the _epitome_ of a Slytherin – greedy, prideful, intolerant, cocky. He was a human representation of basically everything that I loathed in the world. And he was one of the few boys that didn't come flocking to me the previous year.

However, despite my complete and utter disdain for him, I couldn't help but pity him. I couldn't help but feel sorry for everything he was going through. After all, his entire family name had been shamed when his father was taken into custody at the Ministry that June. And what's more – the entire thing was played out for the entire Wizarding World to see – it was written about in every Wizarding publication, broadcast over the Wireless Wizarding Network. He was only 16 years old, and he witnessed his own father sentenced to the worst possible prison in the Wizarding World. I could only imagine what he must have been feeling.

In my heart, I knew he was a rotten person. I knew he was everything that I hated in this world. But I also knew that he was still a human being. He was still a young boy. And he didn't deserve any of this. No one would _ever_ deserve humiliation like that. And it was exactly because of my stupid need to care that I fell in love.

It was a pleasant summer Sunday in July. The dance studio was closed, as it always was on a Sunday, and I found, to my dismay, that I needed to accompany my mother on another trip to Diagon Alley. It seemed eerily reminiscent of that summer day when I discovered dance. And though I was secretly grateful towards her for helping me find that studio, I wasn't about to admit that.

It was _sweltering_ – much hotter than normal for Southern England. I didn't really want to do much – I was merely planning on staying in my room; perhaps practicing a routine I had learned the other day, or otherwise play with the intriguing Muggle gadgets my friends had given me. But instead, my mother came into my room [uninvited, might I add], and announced that we would be going to Diagon Alley to replenish whatever magical items we needed. I tried to argue, but there was no stopping her. Dejected, I threw on a simple Muggle outfit, determined to show my mother exactly what I thought about her dragging me out in this horrid weather. Angrily, I swept out the door and led the way to the Wizarding marketplace.

Once at the Leaky Cauldron, I rushed to the back alley to open the portal, hoping to escape my mother and get lost among the shops. Maybe I'd go on over to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – that joke shop was booming, despite the recently dark turn of events. It didn't surprise me; everyone was in need of a good laugh these days.

So when the portal opened, I slipped through, catching just a glimpse of my mother as she entered the alleyway. I sped my pace, but wasn't able to keep up my speed because I was staring around at the shops in surprise.

Everything seemed to have lost its color; the entire market appeared to have lost its life-giving spark. Every single store had plastered [most likely by Ministry orders] Ministry-approved posters, each one declaring different rules, regulations, and warnings ever since the return of the Dark Lord. One of them was magically writing and rewriting the safety instructions that came in the pamphlet that was owled a few days ago. Another poster held moving pictures of the most dangerous, most wanted Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban the previous year. It was highly disconcerting, looking around at the once beautiful marketplace, and seeing those horrid faces maniacally glaring down at you.

The place wasn't even as crowded – it was the emptiest I had ever seen it before. The usual carts selling various snacks were no longer out; strange new ones advertising safety charms and amulets were there instead. It seemed like a completely different place. And somehow, I got lost.

Despite the fact that I had been coming and going to and from Diagon Alley since I was a young girl, I still managed to get myself lost. Everything just looked so _different_ now that the Dark Lord was back. Everything looked so somber and morose; it was as though His return scared away the life and color of the place. And so I probably made a few wrong turns. But before I knew it, I was walking down an alley much narrower than the ones I was used to. The walls were black and slick with moisture; the area cramped and much darker than any other place in Diagon Alley, even _with_ its new monochromatic adjustment. I vaguely registered that I was probably in a completely different place – and just when I looked up, I saw a haggard-looking sign revealing that this was Knockturn Alley, confirming my suspicions.

My stomach started to twist into a knot. I'd never been to Knockturn Alley before – how in the world was I supposed to find my way back? As I continued to stroll down the curiously dark place, I heard footsteps coming my way. Unsure whether or not I wanted to be seen, I was frozen in place, before making a split-second decision to duck behind the nearest rubbish bin and simply observe the passerby.

I have to admit, I was expecting to see some adult witch or wizard, perhaps odd-looking and a bit mad, lurking around an alley like this. So it came to my complete and utter surprise to see none other than Draco Malfoy walk past the very trash bin I was crouching behind. What's worse; he stopped just in front of it, and began fretting about something.

Why couldn't I have just stayed still and said nothing? Why didn't I just hold my tongue and let him fret and worry on his own? But no – I just _had_ to stand up; I just _had_ to reveal myself to him. It wasn't on purpose – I swear! I was just so surprised – he seemed so out of place in this disgusting and derelict alley. I was just shocked that he was there.

He whipped around, his wand tight in his hand as he surveyed his intruder, but seemed to relax marginally when he realized it was me.

Before he could say anything, I blurted, "What are _you_ doing here?" Only as an attempt to cover up the horrendously embarrassing situation I had landed myself in. Because I had stood up so rapidly, I knocked down nearly all of the trash bins, and even a few neighboring bottles that were lying harmlessly on the ground. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks as he glared at me.

"I could very well ask you the same thing, Astoria," he replied coldly, forming that annoying smirk on his lips whenever he found something cruelly amusing. "Besides, I'm not the one lurking behind a garbage bin," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the fallen cans.

Scowling, I stepped out from behind the one bin left standing. "I wasn't _lurking_," I said, choosing to ignore his first question. I took my wand out of my pocket and waved it, replacing the fallen bins and bottles to their original positions.

Despite my desire to sever ties with all those blatantly vile Slytherins, I really didn't want to be seen as inadequate by any of them either. I prided myself in my superiority over them – superiority not in the typical sense, but superiority nevertheless. Or, as superior as one could be with top-of-the-class marks, and a solid refusal to participate in any demeaning behavior. And now, here I was, curiously exploring a back alley that the rest of my classmates probably felt right at home in. Here I was, found by the one and only Draco Malfoy, whose opinion of me meant nothing, but could certainly cause difficulties in my life in the future.

So what was I supposed to do? Play it cool? Make something up? Or perhaps redirect the conversation to him? The latter seemed much more appealing – after all, I wanted to take the heat off of me. Not to mention, I wanted to satisfy my initial curiosity. What _was_ Draco Malfoy doing here, on his own, looking – scared? Nervous?

"You seem rather – _jumpy_, Draco," I said smoothly, running my eyes along his waxy pale skin and platinum blonde hair. There was certainly a change in him – one that I had pretty much seen coming – but that didn't make it any easier to witness. His father's trial at the Wizengamot was a public phenomenon that the press just couldn't get enough of. I remembered reading the Prophet day after day, following the process and progress of the trial, culminating in Lucius' Azkaban sentence, and Draco and Narcissa's humiliated departure from the courtroom. At the time, I pitied him – sixteen, and witnessing his own father disgraced and sentenced to the worst possible prison in the world. And even now, I couldn't help but feel a slight pang of that resounding sympathy as I took in his wild eyes and utter displacement in the alley.

I wondered how he was getting on, how he was coping. I wanted to ask him, wanted to know. But it wasn't really my business, was it? Besides, how likely would it be to have Draco Malfoy confess how shitty his life is to _me_, Astoria Greengrass – a girl he barely knew, and [if he had the same mindset as the rest of the students in her House] generally didn't like. Should I even try? He looked about ready to curse me.

I wanted to come up with some quick retort, a clever quip to knock him off his feet and back where he came from. But that would be rather insensitive, wouldn't it? Taking a jab at his recently imprisoned father would be a hit below the belt. I'm never one to initiate [or even prolong] a fight. Perhaps if I let my guard down, he would too.

It was a long shot. It was complete lunacy. But it was me. And it was just my way of trying to change the world, one carefully selected word at a time.

"Look," I said softly, dropping all pretenses of insensitivity. "Are you – are you alright?" I lowered my wand, pointing it harmlessly at the ground, waiting anxiously for his answer.

And I realized, a split second too late, that I shouldn't have asked. Not because it was the _wrong_ thing to say. But because it was the _right_ thing to say.

**Chapter Six**

The question obviously caught him off guard, and he paled visibly, despite his already chalky white complexion. I could see him slightly trembling, and lower his wand fractionally. He couldn't look me in the eye.

He stood quite still for several minutes, fuming over what I had just asked.

"Am I _alright?_" he repeated, as though the question was a foreign language and he couldn't decipher its meaning. His voice was soft; hesitant, and I knew that I had gotten to him. I knew that he was actually thinking about it – actually considering everything that was affecting him, and trying to determine whether or not he really _was_ alright.

But of course, he would never actually give me an honest answer.

"Am I _**alright**_?!" he repeated, angrier this time as he finally looked me in the eye. His gaze was cold and hard – fiercer than I had ever seen it before. He was pissed I had asked, pissed that I cared. It was as though I could see this physical barrier being built between us, shielding him from my prying questions and penetrating concern.

He advanced quickly, nearly pinning me against the dank, stone wall behind me. "What kind of bloody pathetic question is that?" he hissed, laughing almost maniacally. "Don't go asking me things like you actually give a damn about who I am and what I'm going through," he spat, glaring fiercely into my eyes. "Don't act like you know me so well just because you've read that Skeeter's bullshit in the papers!" He seemed wild and out of control – almost animalistic. "Let me tell you something, little Greengrass," he continued, grabbing my right wrist and holding it tightly against the wall as he pressed the tip of his wand against my neck. "You've got no business with me, and you've got no business meddling into other people's shit. So why don't you just go back to your little storybooks and teddy bears and play world peace? Because you and I both know you don't belong here."

His words were harsh, painful. You know that expression 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me'? Yeah, I would've taken the sticks and stones any day. And there was just something about the way he said his last sentence – the fact that I didn't belong here. It seemed like he was implying so much more than what his words meant on the surface.

He roughly let go of me, spinning back to the direction he came from. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said, barely even looking at me. "I have some business to take care of."

And with that, he walked away, leaving me stunned and alone.

I don't really know what I was expecting. It was completely idiotic of me to really think that anything less would happen. Draco and I barely knew anything about each other. Even _if_ he was the sensitive, sharing type [God knows he isn't] he wouldn't confess everything to me just then, in a chance meeting in such a dilapidated alley.

But I knew something was wrong. He reacted so strongly – so defensively – for it to be anything but true. I had gotten to him like no other person had. And, despite my hatred of him, I couldn't help but continue to worry. I could only imagine what his mother and her 'friends' were making him do, what kind of stress or pressure he was under.

I didn't make it a point to dissolve his barriers. I didn't make it some kind of goal or mission. It was never intended to be that way. But I just wanted to help him. And apparently that was more than anyone else was willing to do for him.

The rest of the summer passed by uneventfully. I didn't see Draco again until term started on September First, as usual. I continued to attend my dance studio, now a seasoned dancer and budding choreographer. But even my Muggle friends could sense that things were getting darker for the world. Of course, I was the only one that knew the true reason why. But everyone was noticing it. The skies were darker than they had ever been; fog was spreading as fast as you can imagine, but I saw the dementors all the time. I had grown so used to them being around that I rarely screamed when I saw one at the window. Besides, I needed to keep my composure. I would have looked barking mad if I screamed at nothing every time I looked out the window and saw one pass by. I had to remember that my friends couldn't see them.

It scared me so much, knowing that the dementors were running free, sucking the happiness out of every situation and every place I went. The studio even seemed less bright up until the day I had to board the Hogwarts Express back to the school.

It was another tearful goodbye – even more so than the rest, because in times like these I could never be sure if I would see these faces again. The Dark Lord was rising, and gaining more followers each and every day – including my parents. Needless to say, I was marginally happier to be leaving this place and returning back to the safety that was guaranteed at the school. I was running out of excuses to be out of the house – and I wasn't really sure where the safest place to be was anymore.

The Ministry advised everyone to stay in their houses – convinced that it was safer that way. Did that apply to Death Eater families? I couldn't stand being in the same house as them when they pledged their allegiance once more to the Dark Lord. But was I being stupid? Wouldn't staying in the house of dedicated Death Eaters guarantee my safety? Was it worth risking my life in an effort to get away from horrid practices that I despised?

I suppose it didn't matter anyway. I was safely back on the train on September First, heading north back up to the school to begin a new year – to begin a year that would change my life and the lives of every single witch or wizard in the entire world forever.

**Chapter Seven**

The Welcome Back feast was as it had been every year since I had been coming to the school. That night I was sitting near the end of the bench closest to the door – a good place to sit when in need of a quick getaway. As I quickly walked over to the Slytherin table to grab my seat, my shoulder brushed against someone else – a common occurrence in the usually crowded Great Hall. I instinctively muttered, "Sorry," before turning to look at who I had bumped into. And, of course, it just _had_ to be Draco.

He didn't say anything, much to my surprise. No snappy retort; no harsh insult. I could have sworn I saw a flash of the vulnerability I had seen that day in Knockturn Alley. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and he walked on with a sneer on his face, muttering something about blood traitors to Pansy, who turned and glared at me as they walked away. I rolled my eyes, expecting nothing less, and settled into my seat to watch the Sorting.

I watched as more little snot rags were sorted into this poor excuse for a House. Some of them looked scared, while most looked excited. I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

And then Professor Dumbledore stood up to give his usual Welcome Back speech. I knew this year would be much more somber – much more serious and dark. I knew he would bring up the Dark Lord's return. And he did just that. However, as he spread his arms wide, gesturing to his captivated audience, we all caught a glimpse of his right hand – or, what was left of it, anyway. It looked burned; charred; a poor excuse for a hand. I could hear the rest of the Hall buzzing about the brief glimpse Dumbledore had given us. Unable to resist, my eyes darted to where Draco was sitting – only to discover, to my annoyance, that he wasn't even paying attention.

Again, how could I expect anything else from him? But I couldn't keep my eyes away – not because he was _good-looking_, or because I fancied him or anything. Quite the opposite. I just wanted to figure him out. And he seemed rather preoccupied with something; lost in his own troubled thoughts. Even while eating he didn't seem to have as much gusto as he usually did. And it wasn't until the Hall erupted in conversation and the benches scraped back loudly that he seemed to shake himself from his stupor and regain the composure that was surely not there for the entire feast.

I couldn't tell if anyone else noticed; nor could I divulge whether or not anyone else cared. In fact, I couldn't even tell why _I_ even cared. So I tried to push my curiosity out of my mind as I walked with the crowd out of the Great Hall. But, unlike the rest of the students, I didn't head straight for the Common Room. As if I really wanted to spend a few hours catching up with the very people who made my life so miserable at this school. As if I wanted to be around to share in the festivities of resuming our 'high and mighty' status over the rest of the school. I was more than happy to be rid of it all, to be alone.

So instead of following the large crowd in the entrance hall, I ducked around to a much less populated area that most of the students mainly forgot about in the hype of the Welcome Back festivities.

I climbed staircase after staircase in silence, leaving the bustling crowd of new comers and old students behind, and headed toward the only classroom that I truly felt right at home.

It was just my luck that when I arrived at Hogwarts five years ago, I discovered that there was no dance class, no dance team, not even a dance club. But I discovered, as I was wandering around the castle one night in my first year, that there _was _a choir room – that seemed absolutely perfect for a dancer. It literally looked like it was _built_ for a dancer – it looked almost identical to my studio back home. Mirrors lined the perimeter of the room, and the floor was a solid and slippery wood floor. Stackable chairs were piled up in neat stacks at the back of the room, apparently the only things necessary for the choir class. A piano sat in the far corner of the room, and I assumed that it was pulled out to the center when class was in session.

That night, I had snuck into that room, and it felt as though I had been transported back to London, back to where I belonged. It was the first time I felt like myself, ever since I arrived at the spacious castle. Without even thinking about it, I had waved my wand and enchanted the piano to play something – anything. And as the piano began to play itself, I couldn't stop my body from moving along with the music that was emanating from its core.

I don't remember how long I was dancing – time seemed to escape me in that room. But before I knew it, the door was opened and a stern-looking Professor McGonagall stalked in, her frown deepening the crevices in her lined face.

"What are you doing, Ms. Greengrass?" she asked harshly, silencing the piano so that a resounding stillness crept into the air. Embarrassed and frightened, I shrank back into myself.

"Um – dancing?" I replied, my voice rising at the end of my statement, making it sound like a question.

"It's past curfew. You shouldn't be here," she notified me, peering down her long nose; her eyes slightly narrowed.

"I'm really sorry, Professor," I stammered, not wanting to get into trouble my first week at the school. "I just – saw this room, and I couldn't help myself. There's no dance class here, you see," I said, trying to explain myself.

"Yes, well, you do dance magnificently," she commented, much to my surprise. I blushed and smiled.

"Thank you, Professor," I said earnestly.

"Five points will still be taken from Slytherin for being out after hours," she said sternly, causing my smile to fall and remorse to fill my body. "But Ms. Greengrass, if you ever desire to dance – you're welcome to use this room when class is not in session. Just – before curfew," she said kindly. That made me feel marginally better, and I half-smiled up at the elderly witch.

"Thank you, Professor," I said.

And with a wink, she walked out of the room, leaving me to gather my things and follow her out.

Since then, nearly every one of my professors have discovered me dancing in that room at some point in my Hogwarts career. Apparently news of my talent had been spreading among the staff, and none of them minded that I used the choir room to practice. I was slightly disconcerted at all of the attention I was getting – I really just wanted to be alone when I danced. But I couldn't be ungrateful to the very people who were welcoming and encouraging me to dance and essentially be myself.

So I wasn't concerned about getting in trouble as I entered the familiar choir room and set down my things in the corner of the spacious room.

As I grew older, I began to disregard the rules more and more often. Now used to the routine and schedule of each teacher's shift after curfew, I became an expert at avoiding detection as I stayed out later and later every year.

It wasn't that I was particularly arrogant, feeling as though I was better than everyone, and was above the rules. No, it was far from that. Most days I just needed to unwind – and after hours was the only way I was guaranteed privacy in the choir room. Besides, like I had already mentioned – time escaped me in that room. It's not really my fault that I lose myself in the music, and can't come out until well past midnight.

And so I waved my wand, and music began to play instantly. I put on the dance shoes that I always had in my bag, and stepped out on that floor, venting out my frustrations and worries using the lines and movements of my body.

**Chapter Eight**

I must tell you, being a loner really does have its benefits. Granted, time in class usually tended to go much slower than you normally would experience. And it did get lonely when you had no one to talk to. But as I sat by myself during study hall one afternoon a few weeks into term, I was able to observe qualities and characteristics of other people that others would rarely notice. For instance, the Hufflepuff sitting two people down to my left wrote with his quill held tightly between his thumb and first finger – with no other finger touching the feather. I wondered how he could write so comfortably with such a visibly uncomfortable technique.

The Ravenclaw sitting across the hall with her back to me kept picking at her hair; it seemed involuntary, as though she didn't even know she was doing it.

And the white-blonde headed Slytherin sitting on the opposite bench four people down from my right had bloodshot eyes that kept going in and out of focus. His quill was poised above his parchment, as though ready to take down the thoughts that were forming in his head. But the ink dried on the tip of his quill, and not a smudge was made on his parchment.

It was yet another confusing image of Draco that joined the ranks in the growing file I've kept in my mind. Though I'd never really paid attention to him before, things were certainly off for the usually swaggering Slytherin. I continued to watch his complete lack of progress on whatever homework assignment he had initially set to work on for nearly an hour before he abruptly got up from his seat, gathered his clean parchment and books in a haphazard bundle, and walked swiftly out of study hall. No one else paid attention; no one else noticed how uncharacteristic it was of Draco to make a hasty, disheveled exit. So quietly, I gathered my own things and replaced them in my bookbag, and followed him out.

I saw him walking swiftly several feet ahead of me, his arms still full with his belongings. His pace seemed faster than normal, kind of panicked or out of control. I tried to stay out of sight, but then, for some reason I would never deduce, Draco tripped. Yes – the usually suave, cool, collected, coordinated Draco Malfoy tripped over his own feet, sending him sprawling onto the floor, and his belongings flying in every direction.

"Oh," I said involuntarily, rushing forward to help. He was ferociously trying to pick up everything, probably before anyone else saw what had happened. He had no idea I was there.

"Piss off," he said automatically, when he sensed a second presence. I didn't leave, however, and instead picked up the nearest book, and handed it to him. When he looked up furiously to see who it was, his eyes narrowed, and I swear I could feel little daggers shooting out of his eyes and poking me. "I said _piss off_, Greengrass. I don't need your help," he snapped, snatching the book roughly from my hands and getting to his feet. I seriously considered just walking away and leaving him there.

But of course I didn't.

I glared at him adamantly before walking to the other side of the corridor to pick up a few fallen ink wells and quills. When I turned around, however, I was forced to drop them once again as Draco shoved me roughly into the wall.

"I told you I don't bloody need your fucking help," he exclaimed, his voice low but dangerously sharp. "Are you deaf or just plain stupid? Have all those Muggles messed with your brain? Are you really incapable of listening to people?" he interrogated, his fingers squeezing my upper arms tightly.

Naturally, I was pretty scared. What had gotten into him? Why was he so damn tense all of a sudden? But I didn't want to let him know that he had gotten to me. So I tried to keep my face straight as I looked him straight in the eye.

"What's wrong, Draco?" I asked him softly, my eyes softening slightly as I studied his furious expression for some sort of vulnerability. There had to be one – hidden deep down there, somewhere.

Shock filled his eyes as I asked yet another personal question that made him delve into his thoughts and really consider whatever he was going through. I could tell that he wasn't expecting any more compassion from me. Not after that day in Knockturn Alley, and certainly not now, when he was hurting and scaring me to death.

"Get the fuck out of my face, Greengrass," he spat, shoving me away. He couldn't look at me, and he was breathing rather heavily. "Well?! What are you standing there for! Get the hell away from me, you filthy bloodtraitor!" he exclaimed, his eyes wild and his body shaking.

With a sigh, I turned around, slightly fearful that Draco might throw a curse at me from behind or something. I reached the end of the corridor safely, and turned back around to see him still fuming.

"You really should be nicer to people, Draco," I said, watching him with observant eyes.

"Now why would I want to go and do a bloody stupid thing like that?" he asked, his annoyance evident in his voice.

I looked down and off to the side before replying, finally looking him straight in the eyes. "Because maybe people will be nicer to you," I said simply. Then I waved my wand, muttered, "_Locomotor books and parchment,"_ and watched as all of Draco's fallen belongings gathered themselves in a nice, neat pile at his feet. But I didn't stick around to see his reaction, because I whipped down the next corridor and out of sight.

Every day after that for several weeks, Draco gave me the cold shoulder whenever we happened to be in the same room at the same time. It wasn't a particularly devastating blow to my ego. After all, I was quite used to getting the cold shoulder from nearly everyone in the school already, so what difference did one person make? I had given up trying to figure out what was going on with him – he seemed as cut off from the world as ever. Often I would see Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle wandering the castle on their own – a strange sight to see, since they were rarely ever seen without Draco between them. Pansy Parkinson seemed moodier than ever as well – probably because Draco was evidently avoiding her – as well as everyone else in his life, it seemed.

And so I put Draco and his troubles in the back of my mind, merely trying to concentrate on the ridiculous amount of work that the professors decided to pile on us fifth years in preparation for our coming O.W.L.'s in the spring. Though _how_ they expected any of us to be able to concentrate with such horrid things happening around the school was beyond even my comprehension.

The days turned into weeks which eventually turned into months, and still nothing improved – in all aspects of the word. The Wizarding World was facing more danger with each coming day; there were new reports of deaths, kidnappings, and random Ministry arrests every day in the Prophet. In addition to that, Draco still didn't seem to be getting any better – if you could really call it that. He still wasn't acting normally.

I wasn't keeping tabs on him or anything. But you know me and my excellent observation skills. It's just something that I couldn't let go, no matter how hard I tried. He was still avoiding me, as though I had contracted The Black Plague or something.

So the first Hogsmeade weekend that year was welcoming to everyone – even me. I needed a break from the monotony of the school and my coursework. And even though I didn't have anyone to spend time with in the quaint little village, it would simply do me some good just to get out of the castle for a while.

The morning of October 19th saw one of the fiercest, coldest days I had ever experienced at Hogwarts. However, the trip to the village was still on, so I bundled myself up and headed out with everyone else.

The entire trip seemed to be a waste of time, though. Soon the cold sleet became much too horrible to bear, and all of the Hogwarts students were either returning to the castle, or going into the pubs for a bit of warm cider or butterbeer before heading back up.

I considered heading to The Hog's Head, simply for its privacy – but I didn't trust the butterbeer there, so I decided to head to the Three Broomsticks before going back up to the dry castle like the rest of my classmates.

The tables were all packed – not an empty seat was in the pub. So after ordering and receiving my butterbeer, I headed to a slightly secluded corner and stood there, sipping my warm drink as I surveyed what my classmates were doing. Ron Weasley's younger sister, Ginny, was sitting in one corner, alone with her presumable boyfriend, as they had just begun to snog. A group of Ravenclaws sat a few feet away from me, chattering about the latest Charms exam.

My eyes swept the room, and instantly found Draco, who seemed to be coming out of the loo. He looked frightened; as though he had seen – well, certainly not a ghost. Perhaps an Inferious or something. His eyes, too, scanned the room, though his retinal scan was much more frantic; as though he were trying to see if anyone had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to have been doing.

Our eyes connected, and his narrowed slightly, as though I had been intruding upon something personal. And then he swept out of the pub without another word.

I didn't go chasing after him this time – I had learned from experience that going after Draco Malfoy was not the right tactic in trying to find out what was wrong with him. He would never open up if he was interrogated. But I was still so curious as to why he seemed so paranoid all of a sudden.

It wasn't long after he left when Katie Bell nearly died.

**Chapter Nine**

Halloween night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was usually one of festive celebration. Jack-O-Lantern's lined the top and bottom banisters of every staircase; Peeves was showing an increased amount of mischief since the beginning of the week; and the ghosts were seen a bit more frequently than usual. Even Moaning Myrtle made an appearance in the hallways a few times [though Professor McGonagall shooed her back to a lavatory due to the horrible disturbance the depressed and morose ghost was causing]. At this time, students would normally be talking about the Halloween feast, and how excited they were to indulge on the amazing delicacies that the house elves downstairs prepared for them every year. They'd be chattering about In-House Halloween parties, the endless amount of candies they had stocked up on at their last Hogsmeade trip, and other various holiday festivities. But this year was no normal year. I was quite sure of that.

The entire school was still buzzing about the curse that was laid on Katie Bell, despite the fact that the incident occurred nearly three weeks ago. Suspicions were cast, and rumors were flying around so speedily that it seemed to multiply as quickly as two very frisky mice. Since the incident, I had heard several various deductions, each getting far more ludicrous than the next. A first year I had overheard in the girls' lavatory could have sworn she had seen Katie cursing the necklace herself, and was merely a victim to an accidental brush of the cursed object. I was quite sure this first year was exaggerating – especially since students aren't allowed at Hogsmeade until their third year. One of my classmates was heard buzzing about it during her charms class one evening, claiming that the necklace had been meant for Katie, despite the other rumors claiming it was meant for someone else.

But out of every rumor; every accusation; every suspicion that I had heard over the past 19 days, I simply tried to ignore them all. I would never really find out what happened to Katie Bell – and I could only hope that the poor girl was going to be okay. She was, after all, taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries a mere day after the incident – a sure sign that her condition was far worse than Madame Pomfrey could take care of. Of course, I seemed to be the only Slytherin that actually cared. Then again, that was usually the case.

However, one particularly serious rumor affected me a little bit more than the others – the one that involved Draco Malfoy. It got to me not because I thought it was an unjust accusation – but precisely because it seemed like Draco really _was_ guilty. I had no idea _why_ – as far as I knew, Draco really would have no reason to curse Katie Bell. If he was going to curse _anyone_ it would probably be Harry Potter, at the very least. But certainly not an older Gryffindor who essentially did nothing to him.

Since the incident, I noticed that he had become much more tense – much more jumpy – much more paranoid. And these observations only increased my suspicion, only confirmed the theory that was forming in my mind. He seemed more alone than ever, despite the fact that he was constantly surrounded by the people who seemingly worshipped him.

He was _still_ avoiding me; still casting me harsh glares as though I had personally offended him by caring about him. But the words he kept repeating every time I tried to get close were completely true – I didn't know a thing about him, and it really was none of my business to care or be concerned. It wasn't my place to pry. But maybe he misunderstood me. Maybe he thought I was asking him what was wrong simply to gather information and use it against him. If I knew anything about him [or any Slytherin boy, for that matter. Or any _boy_, period,] it was that their pride was worth more to them than anything. And believe me, I knew that Draco was _filled_ with pride.

So when I had asked that solitary question, I had essentially seen past every façade, every roadblock that Draco had put up particularly to avoid having to endure questions like that. I saw through it all, and that was probably what affected him the most.

But my intentions were far from malicious. Maybe he didn't recognize pure empathy when he was faced with it, but I was simply trying to ease some of his pressure. For a teenager to be going through as much as he was, I knew he needed someone to talk to, someone to trust. I didn't really _expect_ to be his confidante. But it didn't seem like anyone else was trying to be.

Everyone else in my House saw Draco as some kind of royalty – as this invincible guy that is the epitome of everything a Slytherin student should be. Would he really risk shattering that reputation by confiding in one of those mindless minions? I was the only one who didn't revere him the way everyone else did – I was the only one impervious to his reputation. I was the only one who didn't care about Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince. I just cared about Draco Malfoy – boy.

Essentially, I was the _only_ one who Draco might even consider talking to, if things ever got that bad. But then again – I didn't _belong_ there, did I? He made that much quite clear that day in Knockturn Alley. And as much as I hated to admit it, his words really hit home. I _didn't_ belong there. I didn't belong _anywhere,_ really. The Slytherins all shunned me because of my blood-traitor status. The Gryffindors all assumed the worst simply because of my House. I maintained a slight few acquaintances in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses, but none with whom I could really call a _friend_.

Of _anyone_ in the school, would Draco really decide that I was worthy enough to keep whatever secret it was that he was hiding? _Me_, the blood traitor, the pathetic loner who was practically invisible, only to appear every once in a while as an opportunity for my fellow classmates to make fun of? Did I really dig myself into this deep of a hole? Was it _abnormal_ for me to want peace and tolerance? Was my life, as Draco so bluntly put it, really filled with 'little storybooks and teddy bears'?

Normally I didn't mind. As I've said before, I often preferred my isolation. While at this school, I only had one goal – to get out and prove everyone wrong. But it was nights like this – nights when groups of friends bustled around, talking and laughing; nights when the Great Hall was filled to capacity and the noise level was several decibels higher than usual, that I usually felt truly alone.

So instead of heading over to the Halloween feast with all of my classmates, I ducked into a presumably deserted hallway, dark and supposedly empty, just to the left of the grand doorways to the Great Hall. From there, I could still hear the chatters, hear the rumors and accusations and presumably the latest news about Katie Bell, about the Dark Lord's rise to power, about the Ministry's horrific and unsuccessful methods to try and calm the Wizarding World. But it was also from there that I hid from the very people that made up my entire life.

And then I realized where I was standing. No – the corridor wasn't anything special; no, there were no secret doors or mystical creatures. But as I looked around, I noticed that I really was alone – and no one out there cared. I truly had _no one_. And I truly _was_ no one.

"Oh God, who the hell am I?" I whispered, pressing my forehead against the stone wall.

"You're the blood traitor that's interrupting my thoughts," came a familiarly cold voice from a dark section of the corridor. I whipped around in surprise and embarrassment, only to watch as Draco swept out from the shadows, looking morose, disheveled, and significantly unrested.

"Draco," I said in disbelief. Those were the first words he had uttered to me since that day he tripped in the corridor. "I didn't see you there."

"Obviously," he muttered irritably. But he didn't sweep past me and out the corridor like I expected him to. He didn't come up with any more insults, any more jabs. He just fell silent, his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn't wearing his robes – just the uniform shirt and his trousers. His tie was loosened and hanging around his neck. His hair was a visible mess, despite the lack of light in this corridor. And I could vaguely make out dark circles underneath his icy blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, in spite of myself. But I wasn't apologizing for intruding upon his thoughts.

"For what?" he snapped.

"For everything," I said simply. "Whatever you're going through, you don't deserve it."

"You don't know a thing about me," he shot back, glaring fiercely at me once more.

"I don't have to," I whispered. Then, much to my surprise, his tense body suddenly went slack, and his shoulders slumped forward as his head hung down.

"Why are you so bloody nice to everyone?" By 'everyone,' I could tell that he mainly meant himself. And it was a valid question – after the way he'd been treating me, being nice to him was certainly not something he should be expecting.

But I was always underestimated.

"Everyone needs a little kindness in their lives," I answered softly, highly aware of the fact that I hardly got any kindness myself. But that was beyond the point.

He scowled, but said nothing, and I took that as an agreement. I took a chance and slowly walked toward him, so that we were both silhouetted in the moonlight that was streaming in from the window at the end of the corridor. He didn't move.

"Look, I know you won't talk to me," I said softly, looking down at my intertwined fingers before looking back up into his pain filled eyes. "You have no reason to. But just – just know that you're not alone, okay?" He couldn't look me in the eye, so he stared resolutely at the ground – well, more like _glared_ at the ground. His fingers curled into fists and his whole body tensed up once more. I was a bit worried that he might lash out, perhaps punch me in the face or something. But I held my ground, and was barely able to hear the nearly indistinguishable phrase that slipped out of his mouth.

"You can't help me," was what I was able to make out. But before I could ask anything else, Professor Slughorn popped his head into the dark corridor and spotted us.

"Oho!" he exclaimed genially, his walrus mustache lifting up as his face broke into a smile. "What do we have here?"

Automatically, Draco and I stepped away from each other, broken out of the slight trance that we had lost ourselves in during our solitude.

"Now, now. You two really should be at the feast. Fantastic food they've got there! You're missing out! You can continue your – _business_ afterwards, you know," he said with a wink.

"Oh, no, Professor, we – we weren't," I stammered, denying anything happening between us.

"Nothing to worry about, Ms. Greengrass. Your secret is safe with me," he said with another wide wink before he slipped out of the doorway and back into the Great Hall beyond.

I sighed, knowing that a presumable relationship between Draco Malfoy and me was sure to spread like wildfire among the staff members. Draco didn't look too happy either, and he walked away from me without uttering another word.

**Chapter Ten**

"Astoria Greengrass?" a second year Ravenclaw student squeaked my name one Sunday several weeks after Halloween.

"That's me," I replied, gazing at her inquiringly.

"I was told to give you this," she said, handing me a tiny scroll with a purple ribbon sealing it shut.

"Thank you," I said, taking the scroll and staring at it curiously. I unwrapped it, unraveling it to reveal very fancy script requesting that I visit Professor Dumbledore in his office within the hour.

Curiously, I gathered my things and headed to his office – the first time I had ever been there. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out exactly what I had done that required my need to be called up to the headmaster's office. Did I do something wrong? I couldn't have. I _never_ do anything wrong.

Have the teachers discovered me breaking curfew in the choir room? Crap, if they caught me after hours for as long as I've been breaking the rules, I'd be in major trouble.

I questionably said the supposed password to Professor Dumbledore's study, as it was written in the note.

"Was that a question or a password?" one of the gargoyles asked the other.

"It sounded more like a question to me," his friend replied. "Are you _sure_ that's the password?" he said, glaring down at me.

"Er. . ." I said, double-checking the note. "Yes, I'm quite-"

"Ms. Greengrass? Trying to get up to Professor Dumbledore's study?" Professor McGonagall said as she rounded the corner.

"Oh – yes, Professor, but the gargoyles don't think I have the right password," I said, trailing off as she glared at the stone guardians. Then Professor McGonagall uttered the exact same phrase that I had just said thirty seconds ago.

"Now _that_ sounded like a password," the gargoyle said, stepping aside to reveal a moving staircase that wound up in tight spirals. Indignantly, I glared at the gargoyles as I passed and stepped up on one of the stone stairs in the ascending staircase. Professor McGonagall, to my surprise, stayed right behind me, and when we arrived at the top, she walked into Professor Dumbledore's study along with me.

All of my professors were gathered within the office, as though they were waiting for my arrival.

"Professor?" I inquired, looking straight at Professor Dumbledore, who was sitting in his grand chair behind his desk. "You asked to see me?"

"Good evening, Ms. Greengrass. How are your studies going?" he asked, as though it were simple small talk over a few cups of tea.

"Er – they're going quite well, sir, thank you," I said awkwardly.

"Good, good. I've heard nothing but good comments from your professors, Ms. Greengrass," he said, gesturing toward my professors, who all beamed at me.

"That's really amazing to hear," I said, beaming myself. "Thank you," I added. But my eyes couldn't help but flash back to the headmaster's horribly burned hand – it looked so much more repulsive up close.

"Professor, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your hand?" I asked, getting slightly sick to my stomach by just looking at it.

"You'd be surprised at how horrible a cook I can be," he replied seriously, but I had a feeling it wasn't the real reason. I let the subject drop, however, certain that if he was to tell anyone what really happened to his hand, it wouldn't be me.

"In other matters," he continued once an acceptable amount of silence had passed. "Draco Malfoy seems dangerously close to flunking out of this school. He is unfortunately failing all of his classes," the headmaster noted, staring at me over his half-moon spectacles.

"Erm, that's unfortunate to hear," I began hesitantly. "But – but I don't understand what that has to do with me, sir?"

"Your professors and I agree that you would make for an adequate tutor for Mr. Malfoy," he said, getting straight to the point. I nearly choked on the air I was breathing.

"I beg your pardon? His _tutor_?" I repeated.

"Yes. We all believe that you will be able to help him get back on track."

I took several deep breaths, looking around the room to make sure this wasn't some sort of trick. "But – but – With all do respect, Professor, Draco is a year above me. How am I supposed to tutor him when I haven't even learned the material myself?"

"We think you have proven yourself pleasantly capable of handling Draco's classes," he replied serenely.

"But I haven't even taken my O.W.L.'s yet. I don't know if I'm capable of handling N.E.W.T. level classes yet," I said, practically pleading. Not just because I didn't want to tutor Draco – but because of what Draco would do if he found out that _I _was tutoring him. _Me_, a girl one year younger than him – the bloodtraitor of the House whom everyone hated, and who apparently got too close for comfort with every encounter we've had since the year began. It was embarrassing enough having to be tutored in the first place – how would he react when he found out that _I_ was his tutor?

"That is why we feel you have deserved this," Dumbledore said, stretching out his good arm. I stepped up and took what was dangling from his hand – a Time-Turner.

"I thought all of these were broken in the Ministry last year," I questioned, examining it incredulously.

"Which is why it is beneficial to always have a spare," Dumbledore said with a wink. "I know it's a lot for you to take on, but we have faith that you will be able to handle it," he said. My face paled, despite my amazement at having just received a Time-Turner. They were really going to make me do this, weren't they?

"You will attend your classes as normal, completing the homework assignments as usual. But you will also sit in during Draco's classes, learning his material as well, using that Time-Turner. You won't have to do any extra assignments – you simply need to observe the lesson so you can be aware of what areas Mr. Malfoy needs help in," Professor Dumbledore explained.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to find someone in his own year to tutor him?" I asked in my last desperate attempt to get out of this assignment.

"Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy have their shared differences, and would never be able to cooperate with each other," Professor Dumbledore stated, as though he had read my mind about my first choice. If only he knew about _my_ shared differences with Draco.

"We cannot _force_ you to agree to this, Ms. Greengrass," Dumbledore said sagely. "However, taking on an immense workload like this will most definitely look good on any job application you may be filling out in the future."

He caught me. And he knew it. I chewed on my lip, weighing the options, as all my professors looked on with mild interest. As if I didn't have enough pressure on me already, what with the headmaster staring serenely away – I had to have every single one of my professors there too.

I sighed dejectedly. "Alright," I agreed. "But I have to warn you – Draco and I don't generally get along, Professor," I confessed.

"Oh, but you will," he said cryptically, with that peaceful smile on his lips.

"What do you-?" I began to ask, but was cut off.

"Well, you'd better run along! Wouldn't want to keep Mr. Malfoy waiting," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Wait – now? But – but I haven't learned anything yet," I said, starting to panic. I had no idea I would have to start so soon.

"Not to worry, Ms. Greengrass. We just want you and Mr. Malfoy to become better acquainted with each other," Professor Dumbledore explained. "Get to know each other; be more comfortable together," he emphasized.

I only relaxed a fraction, because I knew that a 'getting to know each other' session with Draco Malfoy was unlikely to go very well. "Yes, sir," I mumbled, turning around and heading out morosely.

"Ms. Greengrass," Dumbledore called back, making me turn around to face him once more. "Cheer up," he said with a benign smile. "You never know where this might lead you."

Again with the cryptic messages. At the time, I had no idea what the hell the poor old man was talking about. But I smiled presently and nodded to let him know I had understood, before walking out of his office door and into the newly changed world beyond. Because after that moment, everything in my life changed. And it's not until now, as I look back retrospectively, that I realize just how true Professor Dumbledore's words were.

**Chapter Eleven**

"I don't need a bloody _tutor_," I heard Draco hiss as I walked down the corridor heading to Professor McGonagall's classroom, where our meeting was supposed to take place. But he wasn't talking to me.

"Draco, I suggest you take time to consider these things," Professor Snape's unmistakable voice rang from the empty corridor beyond. I immediately stopped walking and stayed close to the wall, my heart pounding.

"I told you I don't need a tutor! You of all people should know that. I don't need my bloody grades messing up my assignment," Draco snapped.

"My dear boy, don't you understand?! If you flunk out of this school, you will be expelled. And how useful will you be if you lose your position at this school? How convenient would it be for you to go through with your mission if you're expelled from the school?" Professor Snape said, quickly and impatiently. My mind was spinning. _A mission?_ What were they talking about?

I heard Draco scowl, but he didn't say anything else.

"You need to bring up your grades. Your place at this school is essential, and you _must_ remain inconspicuous! You're already drawing attention to yourself; you needn't make the situation any worse."

"Just leave me alone," he said dangerously. "I can handle everything on my own." I heard his footsteps rapidly approaching, so, in a panic, I slipped into the first open door available, squeezing my eyes shut in fear that he might have noticed me. But the door didn't open again, and silence consumed the room. When I was finally brave enough to open my eyes, I saw the darkness of the Charms classroom enveloping me.

My heart was still pounding, and I still felt short of breath. So whatever was going on with Draco, Professor Snape knew about it. And it had something to do with some sort of mission, some kind of assignment. And it sounded serious.

Draco seemed in way over his head. And, I just realized – so was I.

I rushed from the Charms classroom, aware that I should have met with Draco a few minutes ago. He really won't like me for being late. Well, he already didn't like me – so he would probably _loathe_ me now.

I took a deep breath as I peeked inside the Transfiguration classroom and saw his solitary blonde head sitting there. I was so damn nervous – I knew the moment that he saw me, he would lash out; he'd go into this ridiculous tirade tearing me apart one pathetic characteristic at a time.

But I wasn't going to run away from this. I wasn't going to run away from him. So with another steeling breath, I opened the classroom door and tried not to shrink as his head whipped around to survey his new tutor.

"_You?!_" he exclaimed in the indignant, insulted voice that I had come to know so well.

I sighed, closing the door behind me. "Evening, Draco," I said, my manners never failing.

"How could _you_ possibly be my tutor?" he asked, spitting out the word as though it were poisonous.

"It's not like I volunteered for this job," I snapped, sitting on the edge of a table and crossing my arms over my chest.

"This is ridiculous. You're not even in my year," he stated rhetorically.

"I don't even know _what_ my professors were thinking," I muttered to myself, but apparently it was loud enough for Draco to hear.

"You must be having a laugh," he said, getting up from his chair and walking over to me. His voice was harsh, icy. "You must be thinking 'poor Draco. He's so incredibly stupid that he needs to be tutored by a younger student. What happened to him?' Yeah, well, I don't need your help, and I don't want it," he said, his face contorted into a mask of anger.

"I find no humor in this situation," I stated plainly. "And in reality, I was thinking more along the lines of 'What could possibly be troubling this boy so much that his grades are dropping?' But I don't think you'd really believe me, even if it is the truth," I stated icily. I was getting so tired of his horrid attitude. I understood why he was so mad about this situation – but both of us had the same feelings toward it. If anything, he needed a few lessons on anger management, at the very least.

A tension formed in the air, much like what I had felt on Halloween night. I was still trying to wrap my head around the conversation I had just heard, and I had nothing else to say to Draco. I knew this stupid meeting was pointless.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I mulled over the recent conversation, but I wasn't entirely able to concentrate, simply because Draco was right there in the room with me. After another few minutes of tense silence, I sighed, calling my thoughts a lost cause. I made a mental note to resume my investigation later that evening.

But as an effort to break the silence and monotony, I did the only thing I knew how to do – my homework. Yes, I did my homework. Or – at least – I _tried_ to.

As I unpacked my bag and took a seat at the nearest desk, Draco eyed me suspiciously. "What are you doing?" he snapped, looking slightly uneasy.

"The professors won't be expecting us to leave for another hour, at least. Might as well get something done," I said, cracking open the Charms textbook to work on the essay I had initially started when I first got the note from Professor Dumbledore.

"What's the point?" he asked indignantly. "You must study a lot if you're smart enough to make the professors think you can tutor me. But I don't get the bloody point."

"Well, when you're a person like me, studying is really the only thing you have," I said softly without looking up from the textbook. And strangely enough, that shut him up. I scrawled a few things on my parchment before sighing and looking up. Draco still had his arms crossed, and he seemed lost in thought.

"Look, it doesn't seem like there's any way out of this," I began, putting my quill down and looking up at him. "And I know that you hate me and that you would do anything to avoid having to work with me. You've made that quite clear," I stated without emotion. "But now that _that_ is out of the way, we might as well at least try to be civil towards one another."

He scowled, but seemed to loosen up slightly, uncrossing his arms and running his fingers through his hair. Taking that as somewhat of an agreement, I turned back to my assignment, reading over the lines I had previously written to get back into what I was trying to explain.

"I suppose you've heard all the rumors about that Bell girl," he said suddenly. I looked up, surprised that he even brought it up. He walked over and took a seat in front of me, sitting backwards in his chair so he could face me. "I suppose you think I'd done it," he speculated, casting me an uncertain look.

And even if I did think that he was somehow responsible, I wouldn't have told him. But the point was that I knew he was innocent. He just didn't seem capable of doing something like that.

"Why do you think that way?" I asked him, my brow furrowing. "I don't have a vendetta against you, Draco, and for what it's worth, I don't think you did anything. And as for Katie, I don't know _what_ to believe. And frankly, I'm not too fussed. I just hope she'll be okay," I said truthfully.

"Me too," he whispered, looking away.

"How – how have you been holding up?" I asked hesitantly, knowing I probably wouldn't be receiving a very straight answer. "Y'know, what with all the rumors and all."

"I couldn't care less about what people think of me," he snapped, sounding quite convincing. If I hadn't been looking at his face, I would have believed him. But it was obvious from his fearful and pained expression that he really did care about what people were saying about him. He just didn't want to admit it. And I understood completely.

"The rumors are completely ridiculous, anyway," I said. "I doubt if anyone actually believes you did anything."

"That's beside the point," he said dejectedly. He brought his head up and looked at me suspiciously. "How could you not think I did it? You saw me at Hogsmeade that day. You saw me leaving the loo."

I shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "You really think I want to think about what you were doing in the loo? You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, Draco. There were dozens of other people in the Three Broomsticks that day."

"But I am the type, aren't I?" he said bitterly, looking away from me once again, that spiteful sneer on his face. "'Draco Malfoy, tortured teenager. Probably unhinged because of what happened to his father.' Pathetic," he hissed.

"I like to believe the best in people," I stated plainly. I was slightly surprised to hear him mention what happened to his father; it was such a sensitive topic that I had no idea how to approach it. "People are just talking because they don't know what else to believe. And they don't know you."

"Oh, and you do?" he shot back sarcastically.

"No," I conceded. "But like I said: I like to believe the best in people. And I really don't believe that you had anything to do with it."

He continued to stare resolutely away from me, but I could have sworn I saw his features relax as he cast his eyes downward.

"You think you're so bloody _noble_," he said contemptuously. "Just because you like to 'believe the best in people,' and your stupid, idiotic need to care about shit that is none of your business. You think you're so much better than me."

Now I began to grow impatient. He was completely misinterpreting every single word that came out of my mouth. "That's not what I think at all," I said, fuming. "But again, it's not like you'd really believe me. I don't understand why it's so damn hard for you to trust that sometimes people actually care about others, with no strings attached. Is it really that hard for you to believe that some people are just selfless by nature?"

"It's not normal," he noted.

"Well, then I guess I'm not normal," I shot back. "You of all people should know that already."

He said nothing.

I tried to go back to my essay, but I simply couldn't. Despite the fact that my quill was poised over my parchment, and my eyes were running over my previous sentences over and over again, I wasn't able to process anything, and I wasn't able to concentrate on the subject at all.

"Why do you do that?" Draco asked suddenly and cryptically.

With a labored sigh, I put down my quill and looked up at him. "Do _what_, Draco?" I asked with forced patience.

"You obviously go through a lot of shit. It's no secret that you're the Slytherin Disgrace," he started, and I felt a slight stab when he said those words. "Why do you put up with it? You never do anything about it."

_Why do you even care?_ I wanted to ask. _You've been one of them._ But I kept my mouth shut, and instead, looked down, away from him.

"It's not exactly easy," I confessed. "But I don't see the point in fighting back. It's not like it's really going to stop you," I said without thinking. I closed my mouth quickly, realizing what I had implied, but I don't think Draco really noticed because he didn't move.

"But we're wrong about you," he whispered, and I caught the fact that he had included himself in that statement. "And you know that. You're not desperate to let everyone know? To prove everyone wrong?"

I sighed. This conversation was definitely taking a dramatic turn. It was a lot better than our fuming silence – but it was still awkward nonetheless. I never thought I would be bearing [at least a part] of my soul to Draco Malfoy so soon.

"I am," I began, dragging out the word. "And I do know you're wrong. I do know that I'm misjudged and underestimated. I am desperate to prove everyone wrong. But I'm just waiting for the right time. I guess that's why I study," I said, gesturing to my textbook and parchment. "If getting good grades will get me places after Hogwarts, then so be it."

We sat in contemplative silence for a while. I had long since declared my Charms essay a lost cause, and had given up even trying to work on it, despite the fact that all of the materials were still out and open. I didn't know what else to say.

I had opened up to Draco; had answered his questions when he prompted them. But I knew better than to expect the same from him. He already knew that I cared; he already knew that I was sympathetic, and open, and willing to listen to whatever he had to say. But that was as far as I was going to push it. I knew that he would only open up when he felt ready. And I was willing to wait. I had all the time in the world, after all.

Or, I did, until I fell in love with him.

**Chapter Twelve**

I began to put my things away, unable to look at my unfinished work any longer. The sound of the rustling parchment seemed to jostle Draco out of his thoughts, because he looked around as though he were noticing the room for the first time that evening.

"Sorry," I muttered, slipping the last book back into my bag.

"I still don't understand why Snape thinks I need a tutor," he whispered to himself spitefully.

"Draco," I sighed, getting up from my seat and claiming the one next to him. "Why _are_ you failing your classes?"

He scowled, annoyed that I had asked. "It doesn't matter to me anymore," he said without looking at me. "It all just seems so pointless."

I had a feeling it was mostly because of this mission that he felt so obligated to accomplish. But obviously I couldn't ask him about that. Yet.

"But don't you want to graduate? Get out of this place?" I asked him, thinking it best to think more like him rather than try and convert him to my beliefs.

"I don't need to graduate to get out of here," he whispered tensely. He still wasn't looking at me.

"Draco," I whispered, tentatively putting my hand softly on his arm. "What are you talking about?"

But before he could answer, the door opened, revealing Professor McGonagall standing there looking – pleased? Satisfied? Yet another tender moment interrupted by a teacher. In my surprise, I snatched my hand away from Draco's arm. "Professor!" I exclaimed in surprise.

"I think you two have had enough time to adequately get to know each other," she said with a slight smile on her usually uptight features. "I suggest you head to bed, as you do have class tomorrow."

"Yes, Professor," I said obediently, gathering my things as Draco did the same, and heading out of the Transfiguration classroom to begin our journey back to the Slytherin Dormitories in the dungeons.

The silent tension between the two of us was almost tangible, and the only thing that I could hear in the still of the night was the sound of our trainers on the slick tile of the castle.

We arrived at the portal, and I muttered the password to the stone wall and waited for it to transform into the door to grant us access to the Slytherin Common Room. Once inside the dark, empty room, we headed straight for the staircases heading to our dorms – but we both stopped at the base of the steps.

"So – I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I said hesitantly.

"Yeah. See you," he muttered before heading up the stairs two at a time. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, and headed up my own stairs at a slower pace, contemplating what my life would be like from that point on.

The next few days were a whirlwind of chaos. I was literally taking on two years' worth of study. The N.E.W.T. level classes were beyond difficult – they were nearly impossible, and it took me twice as long to understand the concepts than it took me in my regular classes. Any normal person would probably crack under the pressure. But, as I've got no life and nothing else to do with myself, I managed to fit everything in, and get the general hang of each new spell, incantation, or potion that Draco and his classmates learned. Sure, I wasn't the _first_ person to master it [they had Hermione Granger for that], but I wasn't far behind. And it definitely helped, not having double the homework.

So when Draco joined me in McGonagall's classroom for our first tutoring session the following Friday, I felt reasonably prepared to help him with whatever he needed help on.

I arrived early [because of my nonexistent social life] and pulled out my textbook, getting to work on a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay that Professor Snape had assigned us that day. I was fully concentrated on the bulk of the essay when I heard the door open slowly. My head whipped around and surveyed Draco, whose expression obviously revealed that he really didn't want to be here.

"You're late," were the first words that came out of my mouth as I glanced up at the clock above the door.

"You're lucky I came at all," he hissed with that disgusted sneer on his face. I couldn't help but agree with him.

He reluctantly pulled up a chair next to me, leaning on the table with his arms crossed.

"So where should we begin?" I asked generally.

"How about we begin at the part where you stop talking," he said irritably. I raised my eyebrow and scoffed, mentally reprimanding myself for expecting anything else.

"Fine," I replied, returning to my essay. Twenty minutes passed in complete silence, the only sounds in the room were of my quill scratching along my parchment, and the faint ticking of the clock. Draco hadn't moved from his spot; he seemed to be staring at a blank spot on the blackboard, seeing it, but not _really_ seeing it.

I finished my essay, casting a charm to blow air from the tip of my wand to dry the ink faster. Then I rolled it up and sealed it, slipping it safely into my bag. I turned to Draco, who still hadn't moved.

I sighed, looking up at the clock – half an hour, wasted. "Draco, we have to get something done," I said slightly impatient. I knew he didn't want to be here, but the least he could do was cooperate. It didn't make much of a difference to me – I'd probably be on my own completing my homework anyway. It was _his_ time he was wasting. Besides, the professors were all expecting some kind of result. Nothing would ever change if our tutoring sessions continued on like this.

"Come _on_, Draco. Work with me here. I don't like this any more than you do, but the least you could do is make an effort."

"I don't have to do anything. Especially with a pathetic blood traitor like _you_," he said scathingly. His eyes were rimmed and bloodshot; dark circles seemed to live underneath his hooded lids. His hair seemed lanker than usual, and it was obvious that he wasn't carrying himself the way he used to.

I exhaled, rolling my eyes, biting my tongue, and shaking my head at the same time. "Of course," I said, getting up from my chair. Draco's head rose a fraction, looking slightly hopeful because he thought I was leaving. But I wasn't. I wasn't going to let him off that easily. So I headed to the front of the classroom, where Professor McGonagall's notes were still up from her last class that day. I picked up a stray textbook that some student had accidentally left, no doubt, and saw that it was a sixth year edition. Curiously, I flipped it open to a random page somewhere close to the middle, and read the first few paragraphs, describing the correct use and technique to transfigure your quill into a golden canary. _Why_ anyone would want to do that was beyond my comprehension, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to try and learn it anyway.

I was getting quite good at nonverbal spells, despite that curriculum being ahead of my year, so I studied the instructions in the book a few more times, unsure if Draco was watching me or not. Not that I really cared.

Once certain I had the incantation pronunciation correct [because even in nonverbal spells, pronouncing the spell correctly in your mind is essential], I took out my wand, lay my quill on the desk in front of me, and waved my wand in the correct manner, reciting the incantation in my mind.

To my surprise, the spell worked on my first go. My quill transformed into a bright yellow canary before my eyes, and soon it was twittering around my head and zooming around the room.

Draco lifted his head curiously, watching the bird's path around the room, leaving a slight yellow trail behind it. "How did you do that?" he asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

I shrugged. "The instructions are in the book," I said modestly. I stuck out my arm for the beautiful bird to land on, and stroked its soft feathers – feathers that looked identical to what my quill used to be, except seemingly dyed yellow.

"You're so cute," I murmured to it, drawing out an obvious eye roll from Draco, which I could see from my peripheral vision. "I think I'll name you . . . Marvin." I declared.

"How do you even know it's a bloke?" Draco called out in a bemused sort of voice.

"I just do," I declared, letting Marvin go so he could fly about the room.

"It'd be a right bit sad if it turned out to be a girl, and you've been calling it 'Marvin' this whole time," he pointed out, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and watching Marvin fly.

"Oh, shut up," I said playfully, unable to come up with a better comeback. Marvin landed on Draco's head, making him look slightly ridiculous. How could you _not_ laugh? Even with his best efforts at shaking the poor bird off his head, Marvin stayed firm, remaining adamant in his position.

Soon, though, it wasn't just my laugh that was filling the room. For the first time, Draco was laughing – in my presence, and, miraculously, not at the sake of anything or anyone else. He was simply laughing because of the moment. And it was shocking enough to make me stop.

"You're laughing," I stated rhetorically, pointing out the obvious. To my dismay, he sobered up immediately.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," he said moodily.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, still unable to get used to his attitude and really random mood swings.

The clock above the door chimed nine o'clock, signaling curfew, and the end of our session.

"Well, time's up. And we got nothing accomplished," I declared, walking back to my seat to pick up my things. "We're just going to have to work harder next week."

Draco snorted and headed to the door without waiting for me. "I'll see you around, Little Greengrass," he said, before walking out the door and leaving me alone.

The next week was an improvement. Kind of. We didn't get much done, once again, mainly due to Draco's complete refusal to learn anything from me. But I transfigured Marvin once again, and we spent most of the hour watching the birds' flight around the classroom. We spoke occasionally, and I could feel that we were getting a bit more comfortable around each other. It wasn't until the following week that I really felt like we were accomplishing something.

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Can you show me?" he asked out of the blue twelve minutes into our third tutoring session. I looked up from my History of Magic essay in surprise.

"Show you what?" I asked curiously, wondering what had changed, and why Draco was suddenly asking for my help.

"How to – y'know," he mumbled awkwardly, eyeing Marvin, who was sitting atop Professor McGonagall's right blackboard.

"Sure," I said with a kind smile, pushing my essay materials out of the way. "You have a quill?" He took out a quill and laid it on the table, his wand ready. He looked at me for further instructions.

I had grown so used to casting the spell that I didn't need the textbook anymore, so I told him from memory exactly how to cast it. It took a few tries, but finally he managed to turn his quill into a bright yellow canary, very similar to Marvin, who had flown over and was now sitting on the desk, watching curiously.

"You did it!" I exclaimed triumphantly. "Great job."

Draco himself seemed slightly surprised that the spell had worked, and cast me a hesitant smile before turning to his own canary and stroking it softly.

"So what shall we name this one?" I asked curiously, admiring its beauty.

"I'm not naming it," he insisted.

"Come on, you have to name it!" I urged. "How about – Marva?"

"You're so sure it's a girl this time," he said, somewhat amused.

"Well Marvin's got to have a lady friend!" I joked. "Marvin and Marva. How cute," I gushed, stroking Marvin a few times. Draco chuckled, but didn't protest.

We watched the two birds fly around for the rest of the hour, admiring our work. Draco seemed a lot more easy going, presumably satisfied that he pulled off the spell.

"What else do you know?" he asked as Marvin chased Marva around the perimeter of the room.

"Lots, I suppose," I said vaguely. Like Draco, I was leaning back in my chair, with my legs resting comfortably on top of the desk in front of me. "I can teach you whatever you want to know."

"I might just take you up on that offer," he said unexpectedly. We smiled at each other, but I struggled to hide the even wider grin that was threatening to spread across my face. I was actually accomplishing something – I was actually _not_ failing at what I was assigned to do. Draco was becoming more tolerant of me; he was getting used to being around me. Sure, I wouldn't call this a budding friendship, per se, but it was definitely progress.

Over the next week, despite my intense load, I was finding things – pleasant. I seemed to wake up each day with a smile on my face, ready to tackle the events for that day. I was smiling a bit more, and I was looking the world in the face. I was in such a good mood, and it definitely showed in my abilities to grasp and master the concepts taught in each class I attended – both mine _and_ Draco's.

"You've been in quite a good mood this week," Draco said as he entered the Transfiguration classroom Friday night for our fourth session. I grinned.

"It's been a nice week," I said vaguely. We put our things down and took out our quills, setting them on the table.

"Ready?" I asked. He nodded, and simultaneously, we cast the spell to create Marvin and Marva. The two yellow canaries appeared before our eyes, and resumed their constant twittering and playing as though they hadn't spent the past week as feather quills.

Draco and I took our usual seats with self satisfied grins. He seemed to notice that I didn't take out my books or parchment, because he said, "What, no essay tonight?"

I shrugged. "Tutoring sessions should be about you," I said. "I have all the time in the world to finish my essays."

"Speaking of, I came across something that I hoped you could help me with," he said, taking out his Charms textbook.

For the rest of the hour, Draco and I actually worked. I taught him spells he was having trouble with, and even taught him some new ones that we hadn't learned before. The entire hour seemed to go by way too fast – it seemed impossible that I was in there, having fun with Draco Malfoy, teaching him [and myself] new spells and amazing bits of magic.

Every time I stole a glance at Draco, I saw a change in him. He seemed lighter, and carefree – more easy going, and less worrisome and moody. It seemed like he saw me differently, as though whenever he looked into my eyes, he was really seeing me for the first time. I felt a connection there that wasn't there before – a connection he didn't let happen during our previous sessions because he was so closed off and uncooperative. I didn't want this to end; I didn't want us to go back to our normal selves.

But, all too soon, the clock chimed nine o'clock, and we had to pack up our bags and head out of the Transfiguration classroom. As we walked back down to the Slytherin Dormitories, Marvin and Marva tucked away safely as quills in our bags, Draco turned to me a few feet away from the entrance.

"Listen," he said, his eyes darting away nervously. "I just wanted to say – thanks, Astoria," he said, using my first name for what seemed like the first time ever. "I've learned a lot."

"You always had the talent, Draco," I said with a kind smile. "It just took a little bit of opening up. So thank _you_, for letting me in," I said earnestly.

He nodded, still avoiding my eyes. I watched him for a bit, wondering what was going through his head. And then his eyes met mine, and the most unexpected thing happened.

He kissed me.

Draco Malfoy leaned his head down and kissed me softly. I was so shocked that it seemed like my body went on autopilot, because I certainly don't remember telling it to kiss him back.

But it was fast – so fast, and before I knew it, it was over, and we were standing there outside of the Slytherin Common Room in the most embarrassing, awkward situation ever known to mankind.

"Um," I said, looking away as I blushed. Draco seemed unable to meet my gaze either.

"We should – we should go in," he said quietly.

"Yeah," I said. He muttered the password for the Common Room, and we walked silently to our staircases.

"Well, goodnight," I said hesitantly.

"Night," he said, equally as hesitant. And together we walked up our individual staircases to our waiting beds.

Needless to say, that was probably the most confusing moment of my entire life. I spent the rest of the weekend fretting about it, second guessing myself, hoping and then tearing down my own hopes. I purposely avoided Draco, either staying holed up in my dormitory, or dodging him in various places of the castle. I didn't want to face him until I absolutely had to – because – well, what was I supposed to do? We kissed. And I didn't know what to do.

So when Monday morning came, and Draco's first class began, I braced myself for the wave of awkwardness that would, no doubt, sweep over the both of us when we made eye contact. But I didn't see him there. Nor did I see him in his second class, or any other class that day.

Confused, I went over to the hospital wing during lunch hour that day to make sure nothing had happened to him – the ward was empty, meaning he was perfectly fine. He was simply cutting class. I sighed disappointedly, and resumed classes as normal.

He wasn't in class for the rest of the week.

Friday came, and I wasn't expecting to see him – it was already midday, and he still hadn't showed. I was beginning to think perhaps he had left the school entirely. But then I saw him walking up the corridor with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and my sister in tow, along with a few other Slytherin cronies.

"Where have you been?" I snapped, walking right up to him.

"As if that's any of your business," he said nastily, giving no indication that he remembered what happened last week. Even though it felt like a stab in the heart, I brushed off his cold shoulder, and continued with my conversation, despite the fact that about six pairs of eyes were burning through me.

"Are we still on for tonight? You have a lot to catch up on," I said. Then, to my surprise, Draco laughed. Not the genuine, fun laugh that I had heard so often in our tutoring sessions – no, this laugh was cold and cruel and malicious.

"Why would I be doing anything with you? Pathetic blood traitor," he hissed. He cast smug smirks to his 'friends.' I stood there, frozen, trying to decipher his behavior; trying to somehow connect with him like we connected last week. But nothing was there.

I steeled myself, refusing to let them see me upset, but I couldn't help but shake my head and look away, before walking away entirely.

"Professor, I don't know if this is going to work anymore," I confessed to Dumbledore as McGonagall sat in that evening in her classroom.

"Mr. Malfoy can be a handful, but I'm sure you can handle it, Ms. Greengrass," he said serenely.

"I understand, and I appreciate your faith in me. I really do. But it's just so hard to work with him – can't you find someone else? Someone he'll be more cooperative with?" I pleaded.

"It is under my impression that you and Mr. Malfoy have had some sort of disagreement," Professor McGonagall piped in.

"That's correct, Professor," I said.

"Well you can't let this all go to waste simply because of one disagreement!" she insisted.

"With all do respect, Professor, I'm not quite sure you understand," I argued. But before I could continue, there was a knock on the door. Through the glass, I could see Draco standing there, looking uneasy and hesitant.

I glared at him for a few seconds before walking over to the door, staring at him for a full three seconds more, and then I pulled down the shade of the door, deliberately blocking him out. He began knocking on the door immediately, with more insistence every time.

"Ms. Greengrass," Professor Dumbledore warned. "Why don't you at least _try_ and resolve this issue? You've always taken the high road, after all."

With a defeated sigh, I opened the door and stepped outside, so the professors wouldn't hear.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I hissed, glaring at him.

"Listen, Astoria, I was hoping you could – you could help me," he said, his face seemingly filled with guilt.

"But, just so no one knows, right?" I shot back.

"Yeah. I hope you understand," he began.

"Oh, I understand completely," I said, my body shaking with rage. "Goodbye, Draco," I said, stepping back into the room and swinging the door closed. But Draco stopped it with his hand.

"Come on, Astoria," he pleaded.

"Look, Draco, I thought I saw something in you," I confessed. "Something different than what you show everyone else in this school. But as it turns out, I was wrong. You're exactly who I thought you were." And with that, I slammed the door shut.

But when I turned around, I was met with stern glares from the two Professors. "I'm sorry!" I exclaimed. "I just couldn't do it."

"I strongly suggest you two resolve this issue, Ms. Greengrass," Professor McGonagall said, rising from her chair. "It's vital you two keep working together."

"But why? Why does it have to be me?" I pleaded as the two educators strode to the door.

They didn't answer me, but they shared a significant glance between each other. "Be sure to expect Draco here next Friday," Professor Dumbledore said instead. "We shall make sure he comes."

And with that, they swept out the door, leaving me fuming and more confused than ever.

**Chapter Fourteen**

But, as the ever obedient one, I was sitting in McGonagall's classroom the following Friday, (the last Friday before term ended for the holidays) waiting for Draco as I always have. I'd been avoiding him throughout the week, brushing past him after class before he could talk to me, or darting in and out of corridors before he could approach me. Now I was the one who would do anything to stop these tutoring sessions; I was the one who didn't want to be here.

In a furious effort to occupy my time and get my thoughts away from Draco, I took out my Potions book and began reading up on a potion we were supposed to make the following Monday in class. I took out my parchment and paper, copying down the instructions and interpreting them so it would be easier to concoct the potion.

The door opened, but I didn't bother looking up. I knew it could only be one person.

"Where's Marvin?" he asked – his first words all week. I held up my quill as an indication that I was using Marvin to write. "Oh," he said, somewhat disappointedly.

He took a seat next to me, but I neglected to acknowledge him.

"Is that a potions essay?" he asked randomly, glancing at my parchment.

"Nope," I said, monosyllabically.

"Oh," he said awkwardly. I don't think he was used to receiving the cold shoulder. He was usually the one to _give_ it.

He sighed, sensing my tension and discomfort. "Look, Astoria. I'm trying here," he began. "Maybe – maybe I miss spending time with you," he said softly.

"Sounds like a load of bullocks to me," I snorted without looking at him.

"It's not!" he exclaimed angrily.

"You know what?" I asked rhetorically, essentially giving up. "Sod it." I threw my quill onto the table, splattering the parchment with the slight bit of ink still on its tip.

I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to stick around to hear the crap that would come pouring out of his mouth. I thought that Draco might actually be taking to me – that he was actually enjoying our tutoring sessions. And maybe he was – but he was still too prideful to admit that to anyone, even himself.

"Where are you going?" he snapped, but he seemed mildly surprised at my outburst. It was probably the first time he had ever heard me curse. In his presence, at least. I was already walking away from him.

"Away from you," I replied without looking back. I was so pissed. Not just at him, but at the entire situation. How was it fair that I was responsible for getting Draco's grades up? It wasn't my fault if he completely failed to grasp the concept. It wasn't my fault if he refused to cooperate. None of this was my fault – so why was I being penalized for it? Why were _my_ grades being jeopardized, when it is obviously clear that I have proven myself capable of passing every subject in this school? I was taking on so much _for him_. And Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall _insist_ that it must be me to tutor him; that they can't find anyone else. The truth is, they probably aren't able to find anyone else who would always give in like I do. But not this time. Not anymore.

It was all so frustrating, and I longed to be back home, in the dance studio, with all of my _real_ friends who truly cared about me, despite not really even knowing me. I didn't want to deal with this shit anymore. How had things fallen apart so quickly? I had managed to avoid drama for as long as I have – and now it all comes crashing down on me _now_?

Nothing made sense anymore. So, of course, I went to the only place that could ever really make me feel better.

The choir room was empty as I expected it would be. It seemed to be waiting for me; like it _knew_ when I needed it. I rushed inside and shut the door behind me, quickly stripping off my cumbersome school robes and putting on my flexible dance shoes. And with a wave of my wand, the music started, and I was off.

I don't really know how long I was on that floor. It might have been 5 hours; it might have been five minutes. But the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my center having been knocked off balance thanks to an intrusion from – none other than – Draco Malfoy.

I was in the middle of my fourth pirouette in a row, my head whipping back to the same spot on the mirror each time to keep my balance and my center strong. I didn't notice when the door opened, and I certainly didn't notice Draco standing there, watching me. Until he started clapping, at least.

Naturally, that scared the hell out of me, and I lost my momentum and my spot, causing me to tumble to the floor. When I looked up furiously to see who the intruder was, my anger only flared when I saw his smug face in the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked angrily, scrambling to my feet.

"Long enough," he said with that self-satisfied smirk. It was as though he had just discovered a perfect tool he could use to blackmail me or something.

I had never really been very public with my dancing – like I said earlier, I preferred it to be a private thing. It irked me to know that Draco had been standing there, watching me in my most vulnerable state, and now had something to hold over me.

"What do you want, Draco?" I asked wearily as I walked over to my belongings, suddenly losing the desire to dance anymore. "I thought we were done."

"Look, you can't just give up," he said, dropping the smugness act. He seemed – desperate.

"I can, and I am," I replied, quickly putting on my trainers and draping my robes over my arm as I slung my bag over my shoulder.

"What about your grades?" he asked nastily.

"I'm going to Professor Snape first thing tomorrow morning," I said, telling him of the plan that I had come up with as my mind slowly cleared while dancing on that floor. "I don't care if I have to write 500 essays to make up the grade. I'm done with this. I'm not doing it anymore." I swept past him through the open door – but I didn't get far, because his hand closed around my arm and twirled me back – right into his waiting arms.

"One more chance," he whispered, our foreheads touching as he gazed intensely into my eyes.

"What makes you think you deserve one?" I whispered back, caught up in the moment. I didn't try and struggle from his grasp – I didn't try and escape. It was a tense moment; a moment that featured Draco in the most vulnerable state I'd ever witnessed up until that point. I was itching to find out what he would do next. But I wouldn't have to wait long.

"I thought everyone needed a little kindness in their life," he whispered, quoting me. He brought his cold hand up to my warm and flushed cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb. And then his lips found mine effortlessly, and involuntarily, my eyes closed and I lost myself in the soft and tender kiss – a kiss that I never thought capable in such a cruel, cold boy. Shivers shot down my spine as my senses went hyperactive. I was suddenly aware of every single touch, of every place where his hands lay on my body, where our lips were connected, where our hair brushed each other's skin. I was suddenly aware of the taste of Draco's lips, of the smell of his skin, of the sound of the silence that filled the empty corridor.

And then I realized what I was doing. And I pushed him away.

"What the fuck, Draco?" I asked him, backing away from him. "Oh no. No, no, no. Your stupid charming seduction techniques might work on the other desperate girls in our House, but it's not going to work on me." I turned on my heel, ignoring his calls for me to return, and ran back to the Slytherin Common Room, not even slowing my pace until I got to my dormitory.

**Chapter Fifteen**

The next morning I woke up to the confused thoughts that I had tried so hard to leave behind the previous night. I had barely slept, tossing and turning in my bed restlessly. I couldn't get Draco out of my head – and now I wasn't so sure if I wanted to cancel our tutoring sessions. Not because I was falling for him [right?]. But because he had shown me a different side, a softer, gentler side that I hadn't thought possible he would ever show me. I was beginning to break down his walls.

Not to mention, he didn't even want me to cancel them. That [and the kiss] probably surprised me the most; that was what was making me doubt my decision.

But I needed to tell Professor Snape about Draco's complete lack of cooperation. Maybe I would still tutor him – but Snape needed to talk to Draco and make him be more attentive.

It was a Saturday morning, and the castle was already emptying for Hogsmeade station for the train back to London for the holidays. It seemed reasonably early – around half past nine in the morning. Silently, I got dressed and headed over to Professor Snape's office.

Just as I was about to knock on the door to his office, however, the door swung open, and Draco was there, thanking Professor Snape for his time. I stood there shocked, unable to believe that a) Draco had beat me here this morning, and b) I had to see him so soon.

"Draco!" I exclaimed.

"Hello, Astoria," he said pleasantly, most likely only for Professor Snape's benefit.

"Professor?" I asked, looking at Snape inquiringly.

"Good morning, Ms. Greengrass. Mr. Malfoy was just telling me what an admirable job you have been doing during your tutoring sessions," he drawled.

"He has?" I asked, looking from the Professor to Draco in confusion.

"His grades have improved significantly," Professor Snape noted, referring to a chart on his desk. "Continue whatever you're doing, Ms. Greengrass. It's definitely working."

"Yes, it is," Draco said, his voice low as he watched me closely. His eyes bore into mine, as though he were trying to send me telepathic messages of some sort.

"I – but -," I stammered.

"I suggest you two spend the day outside – it is proving to be a rare fine winter's day. T'would be a shame to spend it holed up in the castle," Professor Snape commented in that oddly sarcastic-sounding voice.

"Come along, Astoria," Draco said, taking my arm in his hand and dragging me away from Professor Snape's office.

"What are you doing?" I hissed as soon as Snape's door was closed.

"Saving your reputation," he hissed back, annoyed.

"Thanks for your concern," I said sarcastically, wrenching my arm from his grasp, "but my reputation doesn't need _saving_." I tried to walk away from him, but he jumped ahead and stopped me.

"Astoria, we need to talk – about what happened last night," he said softly.

"Oh no we don't," I said, wanting to avoid the subject at all costs. But he placed his hands on my waist before I could escape.

"You liked it, didn't you?" he asked, his stupid smirk creeping across his face.

"No," I said, a little too quickly. Because – well, I'm sure you already know the truth. It was evident just in the way I described it. Of course I liked it. The kiss made me float on air, made me melt and quiver and want more. But that didn't mean that I liked the boy who gave it. …Right?

"It's okay if you liked it," he said seductively, inching his face closer to mine. "We can do it again, if you like."

And I was _so_ tempted. I really was. His lips were centimeters away from mine – I could feel his breath on my skin and smell his irresistible smell. But I turned my head before he could capture me. He pulled away, surprised and irritated. Apparently he wasn't used to rejection.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Draco?" I asked him softly, turning my face back towards him.

"Do what?" he asked, humoring me. But I could tell he was losing his patience.

"This," I said, gesturing with my arm. "Seducing every girl you can see with your looks and your charm. I know you don't really want any of them. So why do you do it? Do you _enjoy_ breaking hearts? Is this some kind of game for you? Whoever scores the most girls wins?"

He scowled, releasing his grip on my waist. I had caught him. Once again, I had the advantage. Once again, I had asked him a question that no one else would ever ask – a question that forced him to think about the person he has become, and question whether or not he really liked it.

"You're always doing that," he said irritably, unable to look me in the eye.

"Doing what?" I frowned.

"Asking these – questions. You're always asking all these damn questions," he mumbled.

"It's not my fault you're never able to answer them," I retorted.

"You're different, Greengrass," he said, studying me quizzically, as though I were some interesting specimen floating in a jar.

"I'm quite aware of that, Draco, thanks to you and your friends. You never get tired of telling me just how _different_ I am."

"No. You're _really_ different. You're not like anyone else in our House."

"How did your grades improve so quickly?" I asked out of the blue, changing the subject.

He shrugged, taking the subject change in stride. "I did my assignments," he answered simply.

"Come on, Draco. Last week you were failing all your classes, and now miraculously you've suddenly acquired all of this knowledge and have aced all your exams since?" I said skeptically. "What did you use? A knowledge spell? A potion? Self-correcting ink? What?"

"Believe it or not, Greengrass, but I am capable of paying attention in class," he said, his voice growing just a tad colder. "I was only failing because I wasn't doing my assignments."

"And why weren't you doing those?" I asked him, crossing my arms.

Again, he shrugged, but I could tell that he tensed up slightly. "I was busy," he said vaguely, avoiding my gaze.

"Too busy to keep yourself from flunking out of school?" I asked, my eyebrows raised.

"Some things are more important than school, Astoria," he snapped.

"Like what?" I countered.

"Like family," he said, unable to help himself. It was definitely clear that he felt like he had said too much.

"What the hell does that mean? Your family's not even here, Draco," I said. When he failed to reply, I couldn't help but ask. "Draco – what's going on?" My voice softened like it always did when I brought up that sensitive question. And I could already see him building those invisible walls of protection that he always had so handy whenever the subject was mentioned. I sighed when I realized that I wasn't going to get anything out of him.

"Forget I asked," I mumbled, turning around.

"Where are you going?" he called, sounding slightly desperate.

I turned back around, observing his saddened expression – as though he _wanted_ to tell me what was going on; he just couldn't. So I decided to tell him the truth. "I don't know. Somewhere outside," I said vaguely. Snape was right – the day was proving to be much nicer than any winter Saturday that year. "Maybe the Black Lake."

"Would it – would it be alright if I joined you?" he asked hesitantly – a characteristic that I never thought possible in Draco. Then again, he was proving me wrong every single day.

"I suppose," I said, not really sure if I wanted him along or not. It certainly was going to be a different experience, spending a Saturday _with_ someone, as opposed to completely alone. But something told me that my conversation with Draco wasn't quite over. Not yet.

We walked out of the castle side by side, our feet crunching on the hard, packed snow. I could see our breath coming in puffy clouds from our mouths and noses. Our hands were dug deeply in our pockets, but the sky was a clear blue and the sun was making the snow shine and glisten. Several students were outside, having snowball fights and making snow angels and snowmen. But we continued on our way to the Black Lake in silence, peacefully observing the antics of the other students.

I led Draco through the trees of the Forbidden Forest to a dense patch where there was no snow on the ground. I really didn't know what to say. I mean, it would have been awkward enough with anyone else. But _Draco Malfoy_? Especially after the drama that ensued last night, and what almost happened this morning – things were so tense and awkward, and I didn't know what to do about it.

I know I had stated earlier that I loathed everything about Draco Malfoy; that he was the epitome of everything that I hated. I suppose I had been pre-judging him – just like everyone else has pre-judged me. I had thought, just because of his reputation and his family, that he was exactly the person he led others to believe. It never occurred to me that there would be another side to him – a side that is much more sensitive, much more modest.

I was still mulling over my confusion when I took a seat at the base of a gargantuan tree overlooking the frozen Black Lake. Draco sat down next to me, with a few inches between us.

I leaned my head against the trunk of the tree, letting out an audible sigh that caused a cloud of condensation to erupt out of my mouth.

"You come here often?" Draco asked conversationally.

I shrugged. "It's a nice place to mull over your thoughts," I replied without looking at him. I shivered slightly, finally noticing how cold it was outside. I reprimanded myself for not dressing in warmer clothing.

Draco noticed my visible shiver, and began to unbutton his cloak. I chuckled.

"Keep it," I said. He paused in his unbuttoning. "You'll freeze."

He shrugged and resumed his unbuttoning. Without a word, he slipped his cloak off his shoulders and put it around mine.

"Draco," I started, not wanting to accept his offering. He might think that something was happening between us.

"Shh," he said instead, closing the space between our bodies and putting an arm around my shoulders. I was so tempted to shrug it off – it seemed so unnatural for me to be sitting here with someone else – with _Draco Malfoy_, no less – and have his arm around my shoulders. Our body heat radiated between us, and I felt better almost instantly.

I tried to still my rapidly beating heart, but I couldn't. The pace had increased the moment Draco lay his arm around me. My palms had begun to sweat, despite the fierce cold. Things had just become a lot more tense. But Draco seemed as casual as ever; completely unaware of the chaotic internal battle raging within me. I was probably staring at him for a full thirty seconds before he noticed anything.

"What?" he asked, raising his eyebrow when he caught me staring.

"How can you be so casual?" I asked incredulously. He gave me a confused expression, and I sighed resignedly. "God, Draco. There's an obvious tension between us. Don't tell me you don't feel it."

"Of course I feel it," he said, shrugging. "Why do you ask? Do you want me to – do something about it?" he asked, walking his fingers down my arm.

I scowled and actually did shrug off his wandering fingers. "I'm not going to do this, Draco," I said softly.

"Do what?" he asked, putting a finger underneath my chin and forcing me to look into his eyes. "You're not going to kiss me?" he teased, inching his face closer for the second time that day. "Because you seemed to be fine with it last night," he added.

And before I could say anything else; before I could pull away once more, he went in for the kill, planting his lips on mine in another mindblowingly amazing kiss. I felt his hand move from underneath my chin to the back of my neck, pulling me in deeper. And I didn't stop him. I melted at his touch; it felt as though my heart was about to explode – it was beating so fast. And then, all too soon, it was over.

**Chapter Sixteen**

We pulled away from each other simultaneously, but our faces were still centimeters apart. Our breath was coming out sharply, our breath clouds mixing together in the air. His right arm was still around my shoulders; his left hand was resting softly at the base of my neck. But as I stared into Draco's eyes, trying to figure him out, I could only see desire and yearning. They seemed unfathomable as they too stared deep inside my own, trying to interpret the millions of thoughts whizzing around in my brain.

And then I did something that I never thought I would ever do. I laid my hand softly on his cheek, slightly shocked at how warm it was, despite the afternoon chill. Then I slid it around his neck and pulled him back to me – the first kiss I had ever initiated between us.

But one single, solitary thought crept ahead of all of the rest in that never ending race in my mind – "What are you doing?" And that moment of hesitation was enough to make me second guess everything.

Startled from the moment, I broke the kiss abruptly and turned my head away from him, my brow furrowed as paranoia seeped in. "What am I doing?" I softly said out loud.

"We were just getting to the good part," Draco said, his voice smug and satisfied, as though this were all some kind of casual joke.

"I can't do this," I whispered, burying my face in my hands. I could practically feel Draco rolling his eyes at me.

"Come on, Astoria. What is it?" he asked a bit impatiently, as though he had better things to do than listen to my insecurities.

"How do I know this isn't some cruel joke? Did my sister put you up to this?" I shot at him, whipping my head up from my hands to glare at him. "How do I know that this isn't part of your whole plan - to get me to fall in love with you, and then you'll just go and break my heart in front of the whole school? Humiliate me. Hurt me. And then you and the rest of your Slytherin friends can have this amazing laugh at how gullible I was; at how easy it was for you to woo me and get me to fall for you?" I said hysterically.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "Astoria, I wouldn't –" he began, but I cut him off.

"We _barely_ know each other, and all of a sudden you want to kiss me? Just last week you were calling me a 'pathetic blood traitor,' and you expect me to believe that your opinion of me has changed in one solitary week? You know what? Save it," I said, taking his cloak off my shoulders and tossing it in his lap. "I'm not going to be a part of it. I'm not going to let you hurt me like that." I got up from my spot on the ground, dusted myself off, and headed back up to the castle without another word.

As it turned out, walking quickly through snow piled metres thick was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. But I managed to make it back to the smooth corridors of the castle unscathed. My mind was still spinning from my confusion and paranoia.

Now, you must be thinking – why the fuck are you turning down Draco Malfoy?! I know. But I wasn't turning him down because I hated him. I guess it was because it was quite the opposite. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I couldn't help but come to that conclusion each and every time. Draco's kisses made me float on air – they were so tender and sweet, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting more.

But I didn't know anything about Draco Malfoy. At least, it seemed like I knew nothing. It felt like there were two sides to him – the side that everyone else saw- the side that I had prejudged and scorned – but there was also another side. A side that he was slowly showing me, a side he was slowly opening up.

But how was I supposed to know if it was all just an act? For all I knew, it could have just been Draco's attempt to quell his boredom by seducing the Slytherin Good Girl. It could have been a bet. It was entirely possible that all of this was just a lie.

My head started to hurt as I considered every angle of this situation. I was glaring resolutely at the ground, avoiding eye contact from everyone I passed – which is probably why I almost bumped into Professor Dumbledore.

"Professor!" I exclaimed in surprise. "I'm sorry; I wasn't looking where I was going," I said as an embarrassed blush crept up my cheeks.

"No matter, Ms. Greengrass," he said in that serene voice. "How are things with you and Mr. Malfoy?" he asked quite randomly.

"Oh, erm," I began, unable to describe exactly what was going on between us.

"I can assure you, Ms. Greengrass, that Mr. Malfoy is not deceiving you," he continued, gazing at me knowingly.

"How did you -?" I began, beginning to feel uncomfortable at just how much he knew about me and my almost relationship with Draco. But Dumbledore merely winked, and then looked up at something behind me.

"Good afternoon, Draco," he said pleasantly. I whipped around to see Draco making his way through the snow back to the castle, but when Dumbledore said hello, Draco stopped in his tracks, a mild expression of fear and guilt crossing his usually smooth features. "Well, I'll let you two get back to whatever it was you were doing," Professor Dumbledore said genially. And with one last wink, the headmaster turned and headed in the opposite direction.

As I watched the headmaster's retreating back, Draco came up and stood next to me.

"Astoria," he said firmly. "We have to talk."

I closed my eyes, praying for patience, before turning around to face him.

"I'm sorry, Draco," I said, before he could say anything else. "I can't do this. Whatever _this_ is, it's not going to happen." I couldn't look him in the eye; couldn't face his expression or his unfathomable eyes.

"Why do you do this?" he asked unexpectedly. In confusion, I looked up and caught his annoyed expression.

"Do what?"

"Why do you run away from the things that make you happy? It's like you don't want to be happy, or something," he said irritably. When I didn't respond, he continued. "Astoria, I'm **not** lying to you," he said intensely, taking both of my hands in his. "We have something. Why can't you see that?"

"For all I know, that something could be a lie," I whispered.

"Do you really want to risk happiness for some theory that isn't even true?"

"I just don't want to get hurt," I said softly, unable to tear my eyes from his, despite my intense desire to get away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said firmly, squeezing my hands and then stroking them softly. "You're different, Astoria. You make me feel so – different."

"Draco, darling!" came Pansy Parkinson's unmistakably horrid voice. Draco closed his eyes in annoyance before turning around to face her, my hands slipping out of his grip. "I've been looking everywhere for you, love!" she exclaimed. But when she saw me, her face transformed into a grimace. "Still with her, I see. She hasn't given it up yet?" she said nastily. "I don't know what you're waiting for," she said, giving me an obvious once-over. "Just do it and get it over with, baby."

"Do what?" I asked quietly, my voice shaking as tears sprang to my eyes.

"Astoria, don't listen to her," he said rapidly and quietly.

"Oops! Sorry, I forgot she didn't know," Pansy continued in mock surprise and guilt.

I had nothing else to say, and I certainly didn't want to stick around to hear the rest of the bullshit that would start pouring from Draco's mouth. So I gave him the nastiest glare I could muster, despite the fact that he was starting to blur, thanks to the tears that were nearly overflowing from my eyes. And then I turned around, and ran away.

The last thing I heard was the laughter of Pansy and her friends. I couldn't tell if Draco was among them.

**Chapter Seventeen**

_How_ could I have been so stupid? How could I have let myself even hope that something would actually happen between Draco and me? How come, after being so damn guarded for my entire life, I let all of my shields down for _him_, the one boy that I had deemed the most dangerous of them all?

What did I expect? That if I made myself vulnerable, then maybe, just _maybe_ he would too? That he would think of me as someone he could trust – as someone different than everyone else in this school? Did I really, honestly believe that he would change?

My first instinct was to head over to the choir room. But I figured that would be the first place Draco would look for me. Anyway, as I passed the classroom, I saw that it was already occupied by a few Ravenclaws playing Gobstones.

I was finding it harder to keep the rest of my tears at bay. I needed to find a place to hide; a place I was guaranteed privacy for a few hours, at least. Somehow I ended up in a deserted seventh floor corridor; the only thing accompanying me was a tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy trying to teach a few trolls how to dance ballet. I noticed that Barnabus' form was completely off, but I was a little bit too distraught to really care.

In my stress, I began to pace the corridor, wishing I could just be alone for a few hours, away from everything that had happened. And somehow – I have no idea how, but somehow a door appeared in the once smooth wall. It took a while for my shock and surprise to dissipate, but I finally walked over to the door and opened it curiously, peeking my head inside.

I was met with a dance studio that was an exact replica of the one back in London – complete with the view outside the windows. The room was spacious, empty, and so much better than the choir room. I stepped inside and let the door close behind me, unable to believe my eyes. Has this room _always_ been here?

I walked into the center of the room, feeling as though this whole thing was a mirage, and that it would disappear if I tried to touch something. In an effort to materialize everything, I ran my hand along the ballet bars running along the perimeter of the room. I looked out the window, putting my hands on the glass – they left handprints. And for a few moments, I completely forgot about Draco.

I couldn't help but giggle giddily as I began to spin around in ecstatic circles in the center of the room. And as the momentum began, I just couldn't stop it. Soon my crazy circles became perfect pirouettes, and the next thing I knew, music was playing from nowhere.

I broke out of my pirouettes and ran to put on my dance shoes before I headed back to the center of the room – the same room where I felt so at home – and danced.

I could have been in that room for hours – but it seemed like mere minutes. In no time, the music faded away into silence, and I looked around and noticed just how late it had gotten. It seemed as though this room were trying to tell me to get to bed.

But I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave this room, because that meant I would have to face the reality that was waiting for me on the other side of that door. I wanted so desperately to just stay here for the rest of the year.

But suddenly all of the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. "Alright! I get it!" I said out loud, moving blindly to where I thought I had put my stuff. "I need a _little_ light here," I emphasized, feeling odd, talking to an empty room. The lights were pulled up slightly, helping to guide me to my belongings, where I changed my trainers and picked up my bag.

"I'll be back," I whispered, and the lights dimmed out as though the room were going to sleep. I opened the door to reveal the familiar corridor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and sighed, dreading the moment when I would have to go back to class.

I began my trek back down to the dungeons – a long trek, and a rather risky journey to make slowly at night, past curfew. But I didn't care. I preferred the castle this way – dark and empty. I turned down a corridor heading in the direction of the familiar choir room, wanting a peek inside just to mentally compare the differences between this studio and mine. But I found, to my greatest surprise, that the room was already occupied. The piano score was faint but distinct even as I walked from the end of the corridor. When I peeked through the glass door, I honestly couldn't believe my eyes.

The grand piano was pulled out to the center of the room, facing away from the door. Whoever was playing had his back to me, but I could recognize that head of platinum blonde hair anywhere. Besides, his face was reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the other end of the room.

The music that was coming from the piano was painfully beautiful. It seemed to rip my heart out of my chest, and I could already feel tears springing to my eyes. But it wasn't just the music that was affecting me.

Draco seemed completely out of place – like an entirely different person. He was so absorbed in the music; his eyes were shut tight and his body was moving in time to the melodic piece. His slender fingers slid over the keys expertly, and he played with a fiery passion that I had never known to exist within him. I didn't even know he _played_ piano.

I couldn't bear to look at him – especially after what he did to me. But my eyes were riveted on him as the concerto seemed to emanate from _him_, and not from the piano. It seemed to be a musical representation of the pain suppressed inside of him, as though each and every note and chord he played exposed a little more of his soul to the world – a soul, it was apparent now, that he longed to reveal, but was simply too afraid to show.

I was constantly finding that I knew _nothing_ about Draco Malfoy. If he kept such an amazing gift a secret, what else could he be hiding? And _why_ was he keeping this a secret in the first place? He had natural talent – and an obvious love for the music.

But then again, this revealed such a soft, passionate, sensitive side to Draco. I guess I could understand why he didn't flaunt this talent.

The score continued on, and I could feel the lump in my throat grow larger, and tears pile up behind my eyes. The piece was _that_ beautiful. It's so hard to describe when something just moves you so completely. For those brief few minutes, I wasn't lurking about the corridors of Hogwarts, secretively listening to a piano score that I wasn't supposed to hear. I was lost; so completely lost in the painful world that Draco was creating with his music. And I was so completely absorbed in the beauty and heartbreak of that world that it saddened me greatly to hear the last chord fade away into silence. I peeked through the door to see what was going on in the room – I wasn't sure if I wanted Draco to see me here.

But as I peeked inside the room, I saw that he hadn't moved from his seat. His head was slumped; his hair was falling over his face so I was unable to get a good glimpse from his mirror image. And then I heard a sniffle. And a soft sob.

Positive that it wasn't coming from me, I looked around the corridor in fear, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be caught. When I saw no one, my mind jumped to the only conclusion left – Draco was the one crying. And just as I came to that conclusion, even more tears overflowed from my eyes and slid down my cheeks. I covered my mouth to suppress my surprised sob as I absorbed this entirely different person – this person who could, under no circumstances, really be Draco Lucius Malfoy.

It killed me to watch him cry – to see him suffering so badly, to see him completely break down. Something in me kept telling myself that he deserved it – that he _should_ be feeling this pain because it's the kind of pain that he caused me mere hours ago. I knew something was tearing him apart. But, as dark, horrid, and evil as he can be, Draco was still a human being. He was still a person. And I realized that perhaps we weren't so different after all. Perhaps he wasn't as cold hearted as I had believed him to be.

Now I didn't know _what_ to believe. Was Draco really lying to me? Or was Parkinson just trying to mess with my head? Either scenario was completely and entirely possible. And for all I knew, Draco could've been crying about something entirely different. I didn't know _what_, but I knew it didn't have to mean he was crying over me. I shouldn't allow myself to hope for that.

_Why_ did my life have to be so damn complicated? Everything was going so perfectly fine before Draco Malfoy entered my routine. And now everything was screwed up. Now I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to think, and I didn't know who to trust. Before all of this, my whole life used to be pretty much black and white. I had a routine, and I stuck to it. I had gotten used to being invisible, had become accustomed to being alone, and I quite liked it that way. And now with this stupid tutoring assignment, I was starting to fall for the one boy I had never thought I would ever love. I was starting to actually _care_ about whether or not I was liked, or accepted; I was starting to hope that maybe I'd actually be appreciated for once, that maybe someone liked me for who I was. Draco was making me feel things I had never allowed myself to feel before. And I hated every minute of it.

I wished my life could just go back to when I was practically invisible. Everything was so much simpler back then. I didn't have a care or worry in the world; my grades were top of the class, and I was on my way to a bright future, despite the threat of the Dark Lord darkening nearly everything in its wake. But now, I couldn't concentrate on what I needed to; my mind was cluttered with things that I never had to care about before. Instead of heading to bed after a good dance workout, I was lurking outside the choir room, crying about how tortured Draco Malfoy was, how I had hoped to be the one to help him, and how that hope was shattered hours earlier.

I heard some movement within the room that snapped me out of my thoughts. I didn't want Draco to see me there – I didn't want to face him just yet, especially with my mind on hyperdrive like it was just then. So I ran away. And I didn't look back.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Whenever you hear of Christmas day, you're always filled with this inescapable warmth, this amazingly good feeling that you always get when it's Christmas time. I don't think I've ever really felt that feeling, and I knew I certainly wasn't feeling it this year.

I had been avoiding Draco for two weeks now; it had become a sort of routine, a new schedule to get used to in order to avoid seeing him. It was harder to avoid seeing other students in my House, but the fact that it was winter holiday made it a bit easier.

I had gone through many lengths to avoid having to face Draco, which involved ducking into corridors, ducking behind trees, ducking into hidden stairwells. It involved a lot of ducking.

I still wasn't sure how I felt about all of this. I hadn't really seen him [obviously] for a while, so I had no idea how he was holding up – I didn't know if he was reveling in his victory, if he was bragging about it to anyone who would listen. And personally, I didn't _want_ to know. I needed time. I needed to get away. But I couldn't go home this Christmas – my parents stopped me from coming home, telling me they had some important business to take care of, and that I should stay at school with my sister.

Daphne was floating around somewhere, shagging some poor Slytherin bloke, no doubt. She was never shy when it came to things like that.

So here I was, in the nearly deserted castle, going through huge lengths to avoid everyone. It was Christmas day, but I didn't receive any presents, which wasn't really a surprise for me. I hadn't gotten Christmas presents for years. It was a festive, happy day for the rest of the students who remained at the school. But I was in no mood to witness this cheerfulness.

I headed up to the Astronomy Tower in an effort to get away from everything and be alone with my thoughts. I leaned against the iron railing, feeling a slight pang of anxiety as I looked down at the fresh snow and the students playing around in it. The fall was tremendous, and it was simply so easy to fall from here. One wrong move, and everything could end. It was a very frightening thought.

I avoided looking down, and instead stared out at the horizon – you could see _everything_ from the Astronomy Tower. The trees of the Forbidden Forest stretched much farther than I thought they did, and I could barely make out the distant shores of the Black Lake. The sun was just above the forest's treetops, casting a hazy light across the grounds, making the snowcapped trees and turrets of the castle glisten and sparkle.

"Happy Christmas, Astoria," came a voice from behind me. A voice that I hadn't heard in two weeks. A voice that I had tried so damn hard to avoid. I lowered my head, closing my eyes in defeat. He'd found me. And there was no escaping now.

I said nothing, and didn't move, but I knew he was there, waiting for a reaction. He let out a sigh; it sounded desperate and conflicted.

"I don't care what people think," he began, and his voice sounded unnaturally high and stressed. "I don't care what they say. Damn it, Astoria, I'm so bloody confused. Everything is falling apart," he confessed, his voice cracking slightly. His distraught voice made a lump form in my throat and tears spring to my eyes. I lifted my head to look at the horizon again, and I was trying so hard to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape my mouth. My muscles in my jaw were clenching from my forced suppression. I heard Draco take a shuddering breath.

"All I know is that I want to be with you," he confessed, so quietly that I wasn't even sure if I was meant to hear it. And that did it. That broke me. My tears poured out of my eyes like a broken dam. I bit my lip to keep myself quiet as Draco began to speak again.

"I don't understand what I'm feeling," he admitted, and it became blatantly clear that he, too, was crying. And I couldn't stop myself. I turned from the railing and practically ran into his arms, losing myself in a kiss that was long overdue. I vaguely registered something dropping from Draco's hands as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me deeper. Our tears mixed together as we were locked in our tight embrace, our lips meshed together as one. I felt Draco's fingers tangle themselves in my hair, and I brought my own hands up to his face, running my fingers through his silky hair.

I don't know how long we were snogging. It felt like a lifetime, and it felt like a millisecond at the same time. But we had to come up for air eventually, so simultaneously, we slowed down our heated kisses and substituted them for slower, longer ones; sweeter, and more tender, until, eventually, they stopped altogether.

We pulled apart hesitantly, not wanting to break the magic of the moment. I opened my eyes slowly, slightly afraid of what I was going to find, and I was met with Draco's intense stare. His eyes revealed so many emotions – confusion and pleasure; hesitancy and – could it be? It looked like love.

My fingers brushed away from hair from his eyes and I leaned up for one last, soft, loving kiss. By then our tears were dried, and my face was feeling slightly tight from the dried salt left over.

"How do I know I can trust you?" I whispered.

"When I kissed you for the first time – outside the Common Room, remember? I just – I don't know what came over me. But I knew. I knew all along; I just didn't want to admit it to myself," he confessed. "I don't know how to do this, Astoria. I don't know how to let people in. But I'm so alone. And I need you. I feel like you're the only person I can trust."

"But what was Pansy talking about?"

"Parkinson was just running off her mouth," he said with urgency. "She can't stand the fact that I would have any interest in you."

"Just promise me you'll never hurt me again," I said, still processing everything else he had told me.

"I promise," he said firmly, pulling me into a tight embrace. I buried my face in the nape of his neck, enjoying the warm feeling that was spreading throughout my body.

"What's that?" I asked, spotting a small box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper and topped off with a white bow.

"Oh," Draco said, seemingly just remembering the little box. He pulled out of the hug and bent down to retrieve the box. "I – er, got you something," he mumbled, fiddling with the package.

"You didn't have to," I said, tears springing to my eyes once again.

"I wanted to," he emphasized, handing over the delicate box.

I lifted the lid, and gasped.

Resting on a soft bed of white cotton lay the most beautiful necklace I had ever seen. Okay, so it wasn't made of millions of Galleons worth of diamonds. It was more beautiful in the sense that it was completely and utterly - _me_.

The ballerina pendant was flat, silver, and featured her doing an excellent arabesque on her point shoe.

"I saw it, and I just – thought of you," Draco explained, watching my reaction anxiously.

"It's beautiful," I said honestly, running a finger over the delicate pendant. "Thank you." Carefully, I extracted the delicate necklace from its box, letting the small silver chain dangle from my fingers. "Will you help me?" I asked, looking up nervously.

He smiled slightly and took the necklace from my hand, stepping behind me. He brought the chain around my neck, and I lifted my hair away from my head so he could clasp it securely. Once clasped, the necklace fit perfectly, falling delicately just above the curve of my chest – the perfect length – short enough to be seen, but long enough to be natural. I let go of my hair, allowing it to fall over the chain, hiding it from view, and I turned around with a genuine smile.

"Beautiful," Draco whispered, not even looking at the necklace. "Just like its owner." My smile widened, and I leaned in for a soft kiss – because how could I resist? It didn't seem like this was really happening; it didn't seem like Draco and I were actually becoming an item. But it was happening.

"Now how about we get something to eat?" he asked, taking my hand and lacing his fingers with mine. "I'm starving."

"Sounds good to me," I said, walking with him down the stairs and to the Great Hall.

That was the first Christmas I'd ever been truly happy. But it wouldn't be the last.

**Chapter Nineteen**

Winter holiday was significantly brighter with Draco by my side. I was no longer lonely, no longer alone. He was always with me, always by my side. We spent two glorious weeks together, enjoying each others' presence. He seemed like a completely different person – a much happier, much more relaxed version of the boy who kissed me that very first time outside the Slytherin Common Room. We had snowball fights and food fights; we cuddled outside in the cold, and inside by the fire. I wasn't used to this – I wasn't used to having someone care about me, having someone actually _want_ to be with me. But it was the best feeling in the entire world.

As the New Year rang in, so did new opportunities, new feelings, new possibilities for me and my life. But I couldn't help but realize that our time alone would soon be over. Term was to start in a few days, bringing back hundreds of students – as well as reality.

How would things change when everything went back to normal? How would we be when there will be hundreds of other students around to witness our relationship, to see us together? How would we act towards each other during our lessons, and our tutoring sessions? And how would I _ever_ be able to concentrate on my studies now, with Draco in my life, occupying my every thought?

"I don't want term to start up again," I said softly on the night of January 3rd as Draco and I cuddled by the fire in the Slytherin Common Room.

"That's surprising," he commented with a chuckle. "You're such a bookworm, I'd have thought you'd be excited."

"Shut up!" I said, hitting him playfully. "I'm serious. Everything's going to change."

"We won't," he emphasized, stroking my hair.

"How can you be so sure?" I whispered. Sighing, I pulled myself away from his comforting embrace to make speaking with him easier. "When everyone is back from holiday, are we really going to be the same? When everyone is around, will you still be by my side, despite all of the shit that we'll get when people find out we're dating?"

"I have no problem showing you off to the world, Astoria," he said tenderly, reaching over and stroking my cheek. "It's like I said on Christmas. I don't care what they think, and I don't care what they say. You make me happy, and I'm not giving that up for them."

"How did this happen?" I whispered rhetorically, leaning in for a kiss before snuggling up to him once more.

But things did change when school was back in session. Draco and I did nothing to advertise our relationship, but the word got out, regardless, and soon we were bombarded with comments that neither of us asked for, nor did we ever want. Even walking down a corridor holding hands brought jealous and angry quips from much more attractive girls. I could read their glares perfectly - _What does he see in __her__? He could do so much better. She's a __blood traitor__ for Christ's sake._ I was quite used to this kind of abuse, but going through it with Draco definitely helped me get through the day. When we were faced with a new wave of abuse, Draco simply squeezed my hand reassuringly, merely held on to me tighter in the Common Room. As far as I could tell, he was taking the abuse well, but I couldn't help but notice a change in him. His relationship with me was tearing him away from everything he had ever known – he wasn't used to being on this end of the ridicule; he wasn't used to having to fend off rumor after rumor, or having to defend himself all the time.

With classes resuming, Draco and I were spending more and more time apart to complete our assignments. I knew I could never concentrate on my work if he was sitting there next to me, so I insisted we separate, with me working in the library, and he working in the Common Room, or somewhere else.

But even if our homework was finished, Draco was venturing off on his own several nights a week, returning well after curfew, I'm sure. I had tried to stay up and wait for him a few nights, but it had gotten to 1 in the morning and he still hadn't returned, so I was forced to retreat to my dormitory. I tried to question him about it, but he always looked so tired and pale in the mornings that he merely brushed away my questions.

Something was going on, and I was really starting to get worried. I was starting to second guess our relationship, question whether or not he really wanted this, wonder if I was good enough for him, or if he had gone and run into the arms of someone else. The stress was taking a toll on our relationship, and I could feel that giant elephant in the room every time we were together. Every time I had the opportunity to ask him, the question pounded in my brain like an incessant jack hammer, prodding me to just spit it out – but I never could.

Soon enough, the dark circles and pale, waxy skin were back; his irritability was high, and he was spending more time away from me. I spent my time alone worrying about us, and I spent my time with him worrying about _me_, and whether I was making him happy or not.

Our tutoring sessions were still in effect, despite the fact that he didn't really need them anymore – his grades were improving significantly. But I suppose it had just become routine, coming to the Transfiguration classroom and conjuring up Marvin and Marva. It was our one night of the week that we could truly be alone with each other. But as we grew apart, I was finding it harder to spend time alone with him. He was so tense, and his temper was so short, that I was afraid any small quip might break him.

But I couldn't take it anymore. I was worried beyond comprehension; my grades were slipping because I couldn't concentrate on anything but him. I missed him, and I missed who we used to be, and more than anything, I just wanted that back.

It was Friday, February 13th. A day before Valentine's Day, and, incidentally, a Friday the 13th. Over the past week, the entire castle seemed to be into the Valentine's Day festivities; Valentine grams were being sent back and forth; Peeves was singing very original [and very crude] versions of his own Valentine grams. The threat and risk of love potions flew about everywhere, and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate were exchanged around every corner.

But to Draco, it didn't seem like anything special. I wasn't expecting anything, but I couldn't help but be a little hurt that he didn't acknowledge the most loving day of the year. He was still tense, and though we still spent time together, it was usually in silence.

This was the case for that Friday night tutoring session as we sat next to each other in our usual seats. I was watching Marvin and Marva, who had become fast friends, and Draco was staring at a certain spot on the desk. The tension was unbelievable; the silence was deafening.

My heart pounded as I considered what I was about to do. But I had to do it.

"Draco," I said softly, scooting my chair closer to him. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, as though he had just noticed my presence for the first time that night.

"Things have changed between us," I said softly, taking his hand in mine. I could feel the tears starting to form as I prepared to pour my heart out to the boy I had fallen in love with. "You said nothing would change, but it has. I feel like – like you're avoiding me. Is it something that I've done? Am I not making you happy anymore?" I pleaded. His gaze grew harder as he penetrated my defenses and realized what I was suggesting.

"Of course not," he said forcefully, turning in his chair to face me.

"Then what is it?" I said, a tear making its way down my cheek. "I miss you, Draco. And I'm worried about you. You don't seem yourself – you're always so distant and preoccupied and tense. Please tell me what's wrong."

Silence persisted as he seemed to consider whether or not he should tell me. I could only hear Marvin and Marva twitter about carelessly, serenely unaware of the drama that was unfolding between their two owners.

"Come on," he said, instead of the explanation I was waiting for. He gathered his things and got up from his chair, calling Marvin and Marva over.

"What?" I asked, slightly stunned by the sudden change.

"I want to show you something," he explained vaguely. "Come on."

Confused, I gathered my own belongings and followed him out the door up flight after flight of stairs. Marvin and Marva were following silently behind us.

"Where are we going?" I asked breathlessly.

"You'll see," he said vaguely, stopping in the same corridor with that same portrait of Barnabus the Barmy teaching the trolls how to dance. It was my studio.

Obviously, Draco didn't know I knew it was there, and I didn't really want to spoil his surprise. So I waited with bated breath, with a quizzical look on my face, as he paced the floor three times. The door appeared, and I was so ready to act all surprised.

But when he opened the door, my surprise was absolutely, completely, 100% genuine.

Because what was behind that door wasn't my studio.

**Chapter Twenty**

I stepped inside a completely different room than what I was expecting. The walls were papered in dark green and silver antique wallpaper. Sconces along the walls held lit candles, though a beautiful crystal chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. On the left side of the room sat a stone fireplace with a few chairs around it – on the right, a casual leather couch.

However, sitting directly in front of me was neither chair nor couch nor fireplace – it was a bed. Yes, an enormous king-sized bed with linens that matched the wallpaper, and huge, comfy-looking pillows resting neatly by the dark wood headboard.

"Hm. Interesting choice," Draco said to himself as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"But – how – what -?" I stuttered, unable to believe that this was the exact same location where my studio used to be. What happened? Did they remodel or something?

"It's called the Room of Requirement," Draco explained, looking around the room. "Basically it transforms itself into whatever you need it to be."

"And you needed a private, secluded, impenetrable _bedroom_?" I asked, eyeing the bed warily.

Draco chuckled. "I didn't think it would give me a bed," he confessed.

My frown deepened. What did he expect me to do? Give myself to him? We were right in the middle of a really deep conversation – besides, I wasn't ready.

"I'm not going to try anything," he whispered in my ear as he walked past me and crawled onto the bed. "Aren't you going to join me?" he asked, when I hadn't moved. "It's comfortable over here," he added.

"I think I'll be fine on the couch," I said, taking a seat on the cool leather, make it squeak a bit.

"Astoria, I swear to you that I won't try anything, alright? Please. Don't you trust me?"

I sighed, defeated. I just wanted to be with him. So I got up from my seat on the couch and headed over to the bed, into his waiting arms.

"Thank you," he said softly as I snuggled against his body, his left arm supporting me while his right held me close.

"I really missed this," I whispered, closing my eyes and listening to the faint beat of his heart in his chest.

"Me too," he replied, stroking my arm lightly with his thumb.

We enjoyed a few minutes of peaceful silence, with the fire crackling merrily in the grate. But I was still thinking about what was wrong with him. And I knew he was too. I didn't want to rush him – I felt like he would tell me when he was ready.

Besides, this moment was long overdue.

"Astoria?" he called hesitantly.

"Mmm?" I purred.

"Before I tell you what's going on, I have to do something first," he said. I frowned and opened my eyes, scooting myself away from his warm body and supporting myself with my arm. I looked at him intensely, with so much concern I could practically feel it radiating out of me.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He, too, sat up, and I pushed myself the rest of the way to meet him. He took both of my hands in his and stared at them, stroking them softly.

"Astoria," he began, his voice barely above the snapping of the fire. He looked up, into my eyes, his hair falling gracefully into his own. I waited with bated breath, my heart pounding in my chest. And then he said it. "I love you."

I exhaled sharply, tears springing to my eyes for the second time that night. I had never, _ever_ been told that I had been loved. Ever. In my life. And here it was, coming from the one person I never would have expected – the one person whom I couldn't stand, and who used to represent everything I hated about this world.

And I realized, at that very moment, that I loved him too. Not just because he said it first. But because of exactly what he used to be. He had come _so far_ since our first encounter in Knockturn Alley. He changed. And I knew he meant these words.

My heart felt like it was about to explode with love. And then I realized that I hadn't said anything.

"I love you, too!" I burst out, relieving his anxiety. I leaned in for a kiss, squeezing my eyes shut and reveling in our love. The kiss deepened, and extended into another, and soon it was a full on snogging session. We fell back softly against the pillows as he climbed swiftly on top of me, never breaking our kiss. I could feel his hair tickling my face as he hovered over me. Everything was so heated, so intense. And then it ended. Really abruptly. Not because I stopped – but because _he_ did.

"Sorry," he said with a sigh as he gave me one last, soft kiss before climbing off me. It took several moments for us to calm down and catch our breath, but when we were ready, we turned to face each other, our heads on our own pillows.

"I really do love you," I whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from his icy eyes. He closed them and held my hand against his cheek.

"You won't love me after this," he whispered, and I snatched my hand away in shock.

"How can you say that?" I said.

"This is it, love. What you've been waiting for," he said with bitter dramatics.

"Don't do that," I snapped, frustrated that he ruined such a perfect moment. "Draco, I love you. And I always will. _Nothing_ will ever change that."

He seemed to break when I said that. "This is so much harder than I thought it was going to be," he whispered to himself, looking away.

I softened then, putting my finger underneath his chin and forcing him to look at me. "You can trust me," I whispered, giving him a soft kiss. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's – it's Dumbledore," he began, a pained look crossing his perfect features.

"What about Dumbledore?" I asked, frowning. What did Dumbledore have to do with anything?

"I have to kill him." He said it so unemotionally – so factually. And I actually laughed.

"Very funny, Draco. Now really, what about Dumbledore?" But I was met with silence. I gazed into his eyes, the laughter dying from my face quite rapidly as I realized with horror that he was actually serious. "I'm sorry. You have to – what?"

"I have to kill Dumbledore," he repeated with that pained look on his face.

I sat up. "Now why do you think you have to go and do something stupid like that?" I snapped. This wasn't funny anymore.

"The Dark Lord told me to," he answered simply. I raised my eyebrow, refusing to believe this excuse.

"The Dark Lord? Draco, you don't have to listen to him. You're not a Death Eater." But even as I stated this, a whole new wave of pain washed over him. It took several seconds for this new information to process. "No!" I exclaimed, looking from him to his left forearm – the same arm that was wrapped around me mere minutes earlier. "No, you can't be!"

Slowly, silently, Draco pulled up his sleeve – and revealed the horrific tattoo that I so desperately did not want to see.

"Oh, my God," I said involuntarily, scooting off the bed and backing away slowly.

"Astoria, please," Draco pleaded with me, sitting up in the bed and facing me. He forgot to pull down the sleeve, so the Mark was staring at me. I couldn't help but stare back.

"Draco you – you're . . ." I began in a fearful whisper. I couldn't even say it. "You can't be…" He noticed my staring and finally pulled down his sleeve, hiding it from view. But I knew it was there. I would always know it was there.

"Nothing's changed, Astoria. I love you!" he exclaimed, trying to bring me back.

Nothing's changed? I couldn't believe he said that. _Everything_ changed. But I couldn't let him know that, so I tried to bring the conversation back to – well, not really a more pleasant topic. But I needed to talk about anything but this.

"Draco, you – you _can't_ kill Dumbledore," I whispered urgently.

"I have no choice, Astoria," he replied tensely.

"You always have a choice," I replied heatedly.

"Not this time," he replied, looking away.

"Wait," I said as realization dawned on me. "So – so that thing with Katie Bell…" I began, gazing upon him fearfully. "That really _was_ you!"

"She wasn't supposed to get hurt!" he shot back immediately.

"That's beside the point!" I exclaimed. "She could have died, Draco!"

"I know that!" he exclaimed, his face a contorted mask of remorse and fear. "It wasn't supposed to happen that way."

"Draco, you can't do this."

"Why do you want the old man alive so badly anyway?!" he shot back, irritated.

"He's the one who brought us together," I whispered, feeling yet another revelation coming. So this is why the Professors were so adamant about having me tutor Draco. This is why they wouldn't let anyone else tutor him. But how did they know that we'd fall in love? And what did they expect me to do? Stop him? How was that possible?

Draco was silent for a few moments.

"You're not a murderer, Draco," I whispered, less afraid of him, and more afraid _for_ him.

"What do you expect me to do, Astoria?" he looked up at me desperately. "Just get up and leave the assignment?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I expect you to do!" I replied, equally as desperately.

"I CAN'T!" he yelled.

"WHY NOT?"

"He said he'd kill me!" he exclaimed, and he paled visibly. Of course. Why hadn't I thought about it before? "He said he'd kill my whole family!" His eyes were rimmed with red, and he seemed so different than the boy I had just confessed my love to minutes ago.

"Oh, shit," I whispered involuntarily.

"I have a plan," he hissed urgently. "I do. It's just – it's taking a lot longer than I thought it would. I need more help." He looked up at me hopefully. My breath caught in my throat.

"Draco, I – I can't help you do that," I whispered, hating myself for denying him the one thing that he needed.

"Why not?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing.

"I just can't," I said, turning around and walking over to the couch, sitting on it and putting my head in my hands.

"Not even to save my life?" he whispered.

"We'll find a way out of this!" I exclaimed, stress taking over my body and forcing tears out of my eyes – tears that formed for the third time that night, but for a completely different reason. "We just – we just have to think. We'll come up with something," I rambled, pushing my hair out of my face frantically.

"There's no way out of this, Astoria," Draco mumbled. I couldn't help it. I began to cry.

"There has to be," I whispered. Draco got up from the bed and walked over to me, taking me in his arms. The loving arms that I had become so used to – the arms that fit around me so perfectly. "I can't lose you."

"You're going to have to." His voice was filled with pain.

"What the hell does that mean?" I exclaimed, pulling out of his comforting embrace to gaze into his troubled eyes.

"We can't be together anymore, Astoria," he repeated.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

It seemed to take him all the effort in the world to say those words. But I refused to accept it.

"No," I said firmly. "We're not breaking up because of this, Draco. I _love_ you."

"And I love you!" he exclaimed. "But I can't let you get hurt. Astoria, if He finds out how much I love you, he's going to use you. He's going to hurt you." The pain, fury, and fear were evident in every particle of Draco's being. The blood drained from my face as I realized that his words were true. If the Dark Lord would use Draco's family as collateral, he'd have no problem using me, too.

"I don't care," I stated firmly. And I really didn't. As afraid as I was for my life, I was _not_ going to leave Draco to deal with this alone.

"I care," he said just as firmly.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Draco," I said. "I'm staying with you." I think Draco could sense that I wasn't about to give up, because he stopped trying to persuade me.

"How did I get so lucky to find someone like you?" he whispered, stroking my face.

"I guess you lucked out," I said with a watery smile. He chuckled lightly, and kissed me softly. But when he pulled away, he sighed.

"We don't have to break up," he said. "But I need everyone else to believe we have. Maybe it'll throw them off the trail for a while."

"So we'll stage something. A huge scene," I suggested. I wasn't too keen on even pretending to break things off with Draco. I was always so proud of our relationship – so happy that I was able to show everyone in the school that I wasn't completely worthless. But I was also willing to do anything for him. Even if that meant _pretending_ to be unhappy. It wouldn't be too hard. After all, at least I'd still have him in my life. Just – secretly.

"You're sure?" he asked, subconsciously sensing my reluctance.

"I'll do anything for you," I said softly. "Just as long as we can still be together. But – can we do it after tomorrow?" Me being a girl, I just had to insist.

"Why? What's tomorrow?" he asked. Such a guy.

"It's Valentine's Day tomorrow, you jerk," I said poking him. "And I want to spend it publicly showing off my love for you."

"Fine," he said with mock resignation. He laughed when I scoffed, and lifted me unexpectedly off my feet.

"Woah, okay, wasn't expecting that," I said as I laughed. He brought me back over to the bed, setting me down gently before agilely climbing on himself.

The grandfather clock in the corner by the fireplace chimed midnight.

"Is it that late already?" I asked in surprise.

"Apparently so," Draco said, glancing over at the clock.

"Shouldn't we be heading back?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why bother?" he asked. "This bed is quite comfortable, isn't it? Much better than what we have in the dorms."

"What are you insinuating, Draco Malfoy?" I asked, playing along. But I was far from worrying. I knew he wouldn't do anything. I knew he knew I wasn't ready. And, honestly, I wasn't all that fussed about sleeping here – with him.

"I am _insinuating_," he began, stretching out the word, "that we sleep together, Astoria Greengrass," he said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but smile. "Fine. But only because I love you," I said, pulling out the blankets from beneath me and scooting myself underneath them. Draco laughed and did the same, and once we were comfortably underneath the sheets, we lay on our sides, facing each other.

We lay there in silence, drinking each other in. Draco's face still showed signs of stress and fear, but they seemed slightly better since he confessed to me.

I took hold of his hand, which was lying three inches from mine, above the lush green comforter.

"Are you scared?" I whispered, lacing my fingers with his before looking up hesitantly into his eyes.

"I'm terrified," he confessed in an equally low whisper. And I realized that I really didn't know anything about him. I didn't know what he went through when he received that horrid tattoo; I didn't know what was going through his head when he was assigned this impossible mission, nor did I know what he actually expected from the outcome. Did he _really_ expect that he was going to be able to kill Dumbledore?

But I did know one thing – I knew that Draco was no killer. He never would be. As hard as he tried, and as hard as he wished, he could never kill anybody. Why? Because he has a heart. And he has love in his life. It was as simple as that.

But what was I supposed to do? Encourage him? Say 'You'll do fine'? Or should I tell him that I know he's no killer, and that we'll find a way out of this? I really wanted to say the latter, but I had a feeling he was very adamant about accomplishing this plan [which he has yet to tell me about]. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know what to say.

Everything changed between us. We grew so much closer that night, but at the same time, I felt like Draco had become a completely different person. I was so afraid – for him, for us, for Dumbledore. I didn't know whose side I was on.

I sighed, frustrated with my internal battle, and knowing that Draco's internal battle must be much worse. I shifted positions so that we were facing the same direction, and felt him slide his arm around my waist as he spooned me.

He kissed my cheek and the back of my head. "I love you, Astoria," he whispered. I smiled and turned my head to kiss him tenderly, reveling in how amazing it felt to hear those words coming from him. How was it possible to be so much in love?

It didn't take long for us to fall asleep.

We were woken up the following day by the chime of the grandfather clock at nine in the morning. Again, it was like the room was telling us to get out there and enjoy our life together.

It was Valentine's Day – a Saturday. A Hogsmeade visit was scheduled today, and I assumed that's where we would spend the day.

As Draco and I stirred from our slumber and stretched our limbs, I wondered what today held in store for us – as well as tomorrow, and everyday after that. I wished that last night had only been a dream – I'd even be willing to give up the fact that he said he loved me – if it could all make this Death Eater, 'I-have-to-kill-Dumbledore' stuff go away.

But, of course, it wasn't a dream. It was real. And I was going to have to face it sooner or later.

"Morning," I said groggily.

"Morning, love," he replied. "Happy Valentine's Day."

I giggled, amazed that he remembered, and even more amazed that he mentioned it first. "Happy Valentine's Day," I repeated.

I sat up in bed, struggling to de-tangle the horrid mess my hair had become. To my frustration, Draco merely had to give his head one light toss, and somehow every strand laid itself perfectly into place.

"So unfair," I commented as I ran my fingers through my hair. Draco chuckled and got out of bed, stretching even more.

"I suppose we'd better go back to our dorms and freshen up," he suggested, which didn't sound like a bad idea to me.

We snuck sneakily out of the Room of Requirement, with my own silent promises to return, and headed back down to the Slytherin Common Room, where we separated and headed up to our own dorms to freshen up.

It wasn't long before we were on our way to Hogsmeade, hand in hand.

"You never struck me as the romantic type," I confessed as we headed down the lane and entered the village.

"I wasn't until I met you," he replied.

"You really have changed," I mentioned, bringing his arm around my shoulders as I slid mine around his waist.

There wasn't much to be said – everything we needed to talk about had to be done in secret. So after a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks [because Madame Pudifoot's was way too cliché] and a bit of shopping at Honeydukes, we headed back up to the castle with our arms full of sweets.

I had an idea of what we should do next, anyway.

"Follow me," I said, leading him up the corridors and staircases in the general direction of the Room of Requirement. Of course, I could have just taken him to the choir room – after all, it used to be my sanctuary. But after discovering the Room of Requirement, I just couldn't get enough of it. It was the _perfect_ room – and it gave us all the privacy in the world.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked with amused curiosity as I stopped outside the entrance and began my pacing.

"You'll see," I said with a smirk. After my third time around a door appeared, and I opened it slowly.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Inside, I was met with my dance studio – the studio that I had felt so at home in, the studio that I had always assumed to have been the only thing to exist in this room. But in the middle of that vast, slick, wooden floor, was a magnificent grand piano.

Draco walked in and seemingly stopped just inside the threshold. I hurried up and closed the door behind him, but he didn't seem to want to go any further.

"Come on," I urged him, taking his arm and leading him to the piano bench.

"How did you know?" he whispered, running his fingers lightly over the keys.

"I heard you playing. That night, after – well, after Pansy said those things," I mumbled, unwilling to bring back memories of that night. He said nothing, but looked around the room, observing his surroundings.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking out the window at the London street.

"This is my dance studio," I told him, getting up and walking around slowly, my fingers running along the ballet bars attached to the wall. "In London. An exact replica. I've actually used the Room of Requirement before," I confessed. "That night. I came here by chance, and it gave me this."

Draco didn't seem to know what to say. I walked back over to the piano and sat next to him on the bench.

"Will you play something for me?" I asked him softly, running my fingers along the keys on my side to meet his hand halfway there. He smiled.

"Of course," he replied, kissing my hand and then my lips.

Then he centered himself on the bench, placed his fingers in the right places for the first chord, and played.

The melody rang out of the piano serenely, filling the room with the delicate sound of each key. For the few seconds that he held each note, the sound seemed to vibrate into the air, ringing and bouncing around in the vast, vacant, hollow room. His tempo changed from _legato _to _allegretto_ _grazioso_; from slow and sensual to fast and passionate.

The notes in the higher octave seemed to shine a little brighter than the lower undertones, but they fit together perfectly. It was the same song he played that night.

It was so different, watching him play it for me. It seemed to have so much more **love**, so much more passion. I really could feel the love emanating from him, flowing out from his fingers and onto the keys in front of him. His face remained static, but his eyes were closed and his body moved with the music. I couldn't believe that he was playing this piece entirely by memory.

He opened his eyes to keep watch on the keys and make sure he was playing the right notes, but I figured he could have been playing a piano completely out of tune, and he still would have sounded amazing.

My eyes flickered between watching his loving face, to the dizzying blur that were his fingers as they flew over the keys so expertly. The song seemed like it would last forever – and in reality, I really wanted it to. Once again I was lost; transported into this peaceful world where nothing could ever go wrong. It was like the music was surrounding us, forming this protective bubble where we could just stay in forever and nothing could ever touch us. It brought me to a place away from my fears and worries and the horrible reality that was soon going to take over my life as well as Draco's.

But every good song has to end. And, all too soon, just like that first night, the final chord reverberated throughout the room, a lingering buzz in the still silence that overcame us. Draco lifted his fingers off the keys and lay them in his lap, not really sure what to do with himself now that the song was over.

"That was so beautiful," I whispered, not really wanting to break the enchantment that the song had cast over us. "When did you learn how to play?"

"I've been playing since I was young," he said vaguely. "I taught myself; usually practiced at night when everyone else was asleep. We have soundproof walls at our house," he added when I gave him a quizzical look.

"Did you write this song?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah," he replied with a slight smile.

"God, Draco, that is a really beautiful piece of music. You're really talented," I gushed.

He chuckled, and I could have sworn him blush a little. "Now you need to do something for me," he said, getting up from the piano bench. I followed suit.

"Like what?" I asked, my eyebrow raised. I squealed when he seized me by the waist and pulled me to him unexpectedly.

"Dance for me," he whispered, waving his wand over his shoulder, causing the piano to vanish. I smiled and giggled a bit, leaning in for a kiss before spinning out of his grasp. After putting on my dance shoes I nervously walked to the middle of the floor, ever conscious that Draco was watching me. I wasn't really used to having an audience – especially one consisting of the one person I loved more than anything in the world. But he made himself vulnerable for me – the least I could do was do the same for him.

The music seemed to start automatically, as though it was waiting until I was ready to begin. And it really wasn't hard for me to forget all about my nerves, and just dance.

It flowed out of my body as I flew around the room, and I had an inkling this is exactly what Draco felt when he played his music. It was exhilerating and freeing; liberating and euphoric. I don't think I've ever experienced as much joy as I had when dancing that day.

The music soon faded and I struck my final pose before looking over at Draco hesitantly. He had a wide grin on his face, which only made one sneak onto mine, and we ran into each other's arms. "You were fantastic," he whispered.

"I love you," I whispered before we kissed once more. I know, I know. We keep kissing! But I couldn't help it. I loved him so much, and I couldn't get enough of it. Besides, after today, we'd have to keep our snogging sessions to a minimum. And in any case, my fear for his safety was even more incentive to try and absorb and enjoy as much of this as possible.

"All in all," I began as we pulled away. "I would have to say this has been the best Valentine's Day ever," I said with a smile.

"Agreed," Draco grinned. "And it's not even over yet."

"What else do you have planned?" I asked curiously.

"You'll see," he whispered. "But for now, we should grab some lunch. I'm starving."

I rolled my eyes but agreed, taking his hand and leading him out the door, which dissolved once it was safely closed.

The Great Hall seemed to be decorated for this festive day, as pink confetti was spread all along the House tables, and heart-shaped pink desserts were featured on trays in the center of the table.

"They really went all out this year," I commented as we took a seat and began to eat.

Lunch went by smoothly, and before I knew it, we were heading outside, hand in hand, for a walk.

"I'm going to miss this," I commented as I looked out into the Forbidden Forest.

"It'll only be for a little while," Draco assured me.

"Have you given any thought to how you want to do it?" I asked.

He frowned. "I don't like thinking about how I'm going to break up with you," he confessed.

"It has to be done," I said softly.

"How about we talk about this later," he suggested, swinging his arm around my shoulder. "Let's not damper today with depressing talk like this."

"Alright," I agreed, half grudgingly, half grateful.

"Did you think this would happen to us?" he asked out of the blue as we continued our lazy walk around the grounds.

"What, that we'd fall in love? Absolutely not," I confessed with a laugh. "That was the furthest thing from my mind when we first met in Knockturn Alley."

"But you never gave up on me," he commented.

"I knew you were going through a lot. And I just wanted to help," I told him. "It wasn't a mission, or anything. I didn't make it a goal to find out what was bothering you. It just – happened."

Draco was silent for a few seconds, and we walked on without another word. It was mid-afternoon, probably around half past three, and the sun was slowly making its way west for the sunset.

But suddenly, Draco checked his watch and slid his arm off my shoulders. "I have to be somewhere," he said cryptically.

"What?" I asked in surprise. I thought we were going to spend all day together.

"Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous," he reassured me. "I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly, but I need some time to make the necessary arrangements."

"What arrangements?" I asked suspiciously.

"You'll see soon," he said, kissing me softly. "Just meet me outside the Room of Requirement at 7 o'clock."

"But –" I began, but he was already walking away from me. "Now what am I supposed to do?" I said to myself. I was a little put out that he had left me so abruptly, but I was slightly eager to see what he was coming up with. Maybe it was a secret Valentine's Day surprise? It was going to be in the Room of Requirement, after all.

But until then, I needed to find some way to occupy my time. I had nearly four hours to wait [_what_ could Draco have to prepare that took four hours?] My feet simply began to walk, and I found myself being guided to the Quidditch Pitch.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

As it was a Saturday, the pitch was quite occupied, with various groups of friends flying around, while others sat in the stands watching. I didn't really know what I wanted to do, so as I entered the pitch, I just started climbing the stairs. And climbing. And climbing.

Finally I reached the topmost stand, where the commentator usually sat. I found that it was mercifully empty, so I headed up to the highest stair and sat in the corner watching the various students zip around on their brooms.

This was how I would be spending the next few weeks without Draco – I'd have to find other means of occupying my time. I should have been completing my homework assignments – I still had _one_ Transfiguration essay that I needed to revise – but I couldn't concentrate.

My mind was a jumbled mess. It was filled with so much love and happiness, but it was also cluttered with fear and worry and dread. I had a feeling that everything was going to change after today. I mean, everything changed _last night_, when Draco told me his big secret. But once we began our act, it wasn't going to be easy anymore.

What did this mean for me? Did my going along with his plan mean that I was _actually_ going along with his plan? Was I supporting him in his endeavors to murder Dumbledore? I mean, I wanted to support him in whatever he did, but I couldn't condone this. I couldn't just sit back and let him do this to himself.

And it dawned on me that this was probably Dumbledore's plan all along. It had registered in my mind last night, but the gravity of the situation failed to allow me to really see the entire picture. But the fact was, Dumbledore _knew_. And instead of calling Draco out on it and having him expelled, Dumbledore took me in, and tried to use love as a means to get Draco to see things differently. He had known, had _expected_ us to fall in love. It was slightly creepy, knowing that this wise old wizard had played matchmaker for me and Draco – but obviously I'd forever be grateful. And it just made me respect him as a person so much more. Dumbledore believed that being in love would veer him off course – and I could only hope that he was right. I couldn't believe that he had that much faith in me and my love.

But what if it wasn't enough? What if Draco still went through with his plan, despite my presence in his life? What else could I do to stop him? I felt like I was failing somehow – like I should be doing more to help Dumbledore and get Draco to see reason.

And then I thought about our imminent breakup, and how it was supposed to be publicly broadcast around the school. Should I tell Dumbledore about it? Should I tell _Draco_ about telling Dumbledore? I felt like it should be a no to the latter. I hated lying to Draco and sneaking around behind his back – but I loved him even more, and that was exactly why I decided to go to Dumbledore's office and tell him mine and Draco's plan.

I began my journey back up to the castle, running through what I was going to say in my head. My heart was pounding – it was going to be awkward, telling Dumbledore that I was in love with Draco Malfoy. But I needed to let him in on our secret. I needed him to know that I really was trying.

As I met up with the gargoyles guarding Dumbledore's office, I wondered if the password was still the same. I stood there for a few minutes, contemplating whether or not to try it.

"Well are you going to stand there all day?" one of the gargoyles said, startling me slightly.

"Yes, you're blocking our view," the other one agreed. I looked behind me to see a stone wall, and I raised my eyebrow.

"Sorry, I just don't think you'll let me in, even if I did have the right password," I shot back.

"Ms. Greengrass?" came Dumbledore's voice from the end of the corridor.

"Professor!" I exclaimed gratefully. "Can I have a word?"

"Certainly," he said genially, giving his password [which had, indeed, changed since I was there last] and leading me up to his study. "How may I help you?" he asked, very scholarly-like, as he sat in his throne-like chair.

"Erm," I started, completely unsure of where to begin.

"Does this have something to do with Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, omnisciently.

"Yes, Professor, but it's not what you think," I rushed. "I know. Everything," I stated plainly, hoping he would catch on to exactly _what_ I knew. "And I'm sure you know it all, too."

"Am I aware that Draco Malfoy is trying to kill me? Yes, I am," he stated plainly, as though we were discussing the weather.

"Sir, you have to know that he wouldn't -," I began, but he waved his hand, cutting me off.

"I do not believe that Draco is a killer, Ms. Greengrass," he stated. "But that does not erase the fact that he is still trying. Which is why, I'm sure you have already figured out, I sent for you."

Despite my desire to warn Dumbledore, my curiosity got the best of me. "But why did you choose me?" I asked, in spite of myself.

"Because you, Ms. Greengrass, have shown all capabilities of being able to love, even when you receive no love in return. I knew if anyone would be patient and open to Draco, it would be you," he said.

I didn't know what to say.

"So I trust my little plan has worked?" he asked pleasantly. I blushed.

"Well – yes. It has," I began shyly. "But, sir, I don't know if I'm helping you," I confessed.

"Loving Draco is all I need you to do," he answered simply. "Everything will simply take care of itself."

"But – but I feel like I should be doing more to stop him," I confessed.

"You needn't worry, Ms. Greengrass," he said reassuringly. "Draco has love in his life that he didn't have before. He will be fine."

"He's afraid for me," I told him. "He's afraid that Voldemort will use me as collateral, like he's using Draco's family and his life."

"Yes, I was worried that might happen," Dumbledore said softly, rubbing his chin [though I didn't know how he could really find it, with that super long beard].

"He wants us to break up," I burst. "Well, not really break up," I continued when I caught the slight alarm on his face. "We're going to stage a whole scene to make everyone believe that we're over. He thinks it might lead them off my trail."

"Sounds reasonable," Dumbledore said consideringly.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm trying. I really am."

"I believe you, Ms. Greengrass," he said with a smile. He seemed completely unconcerned with the fact that there was a rather serious death threat set against him. "And I thank you for being so receptive and open to Draco. I think it is safe to say that you have changed his life for the better."

I blushed once more. "Thanks to you," I mumbled. He chuckled.

"I appreciate you telling me this," he said kindly. "But where is Mr. Malfoy? It is Valentine's Day, after all," he said with a twinkling wink.

"Oh, he's setting something up. A surprise, I think," I said, blushing even deeper.

"Well, enjoy your night, Ms. Greengrass," he said.

"Thank you, sir," I said, taking this as my cue to leave. I checked my watch once out of his office, and saw that I still had about two and a half hours left until 7 o'clock.

As I walked out of the castle once more, my mind still blank as to what I was supposed to do with my time, Marva came flying up to me, a tiny pouch and letter tied to her leg. "Marva! What have you got there?" I asked her, letting her land on my finger so I could detach her parcel.

I unraveled the tiny strip of parchment to see Draco's familiar scrawl. "Astoria," it read, "Take this money and head down to Gladrag's in Hogsmeade. Buy yourself a stunning dress robe to wear tonight. Don't forget – 7 o'clock!" I read and reread the note, unable to believe my eyes.

"What is your owner up to?" I asked the twittering little bird, who was now hovering above my arm, now that the weight bringing it down was released. I opened up the little pouch and saw a glimmer of gold. "You really think I'm going to spend this?" I said to myself, addressing an invisible Draco. I made a vow to return the money to him, and buy the dress robe on my own.

I realized that this must be a big deal, if he wanted me to dress up. I immediately made my way down to the village for the second time that day, wondering what kind of robe I should buy that will say the exact right message.

I entered the small, forgotten robe shop and headed straight for the dress robes section, not wanting to waste any time. Hardly anyone knew this store was here – it was often overshadowed by Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks, but I couldn't help but be grateful it was here. Somehow the one dress robe I had tucked away in my trunk in my dorm didn't seem adequate enough.

Luckily, the owner of the store didn't bother to come and help me – I wasn't much in the mood for chatting with anyone. So I browsed the section for a full fifteen, twenty minutes, collecting an armload of dresses to try on, before heading to the dressing room eagerly.

I tried on so many dresses – short ones and long ones; glittery ones and silky ones. They came in every color, but I mostly stuck to green or red – green for Slytherin [despite my hatred for the house, I couldn't deny that I looked good in that color] and red for Valentine's Day.

I fell in love with dresses, and I gagged at ones that were hideous. But with every dress I tried on, I couldn't find the perfect one.

I had set aside a few dresses that I liked, and would probably try on again after I was finished with everything else. But as I turned to the very last dress on the hook, I wondered how I could forget about it.

I tried it on, and it turned out to be a perfect fit. And I felt like it was absolutely perfect. It was formal, but not _too_ formal. The color was a deep burgundy, like red wine, and it was made of the silkiest material I had ever worn. The bodice was intricately embroidered with beads and lace, and it flowed down and around my legs like a waterfall.

I stared at myself in the mirror for probably three minutes, admiring the way it looked, and the way it looked on me. And then I was sold.

When I finally emerged from the shop – dress slung over my arm – the sun was nearing the western horizon. I had been in there for nearly an hour, which meant I had an hour and a half to get ready.

It seems like so much time, but it really isn't. Especially if you don't even know how you're going to style yourself. So I rushed back to the dorm, finding it mercifully empty. The other girls were probably out with their own boyfriends, or otherwise shagging someone just for the sake of it. But it didn't matter – I just needed the dorm to myself.

I rushed around in my dressing gown, music playing from thin air, as I tried to picture myself in various hairstyles. I hadn't yet mastered performing spells on my own body, and I really didn't want to risk anything tonight, so I settled for the more traditional way of getting ready for a date.

I don't think I really need to divulge all of the details. I did my hair, did my makeup, and put on the dress. All in all, it took about an hour and fifteen minutes, leaving me fifteen minutes to gather my thoughts and get up to the seventh floor to meet Draco at the Room of Requirement.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, taking a few deep breaths as I tried to prepare myself for what was about to happen. But I couldn't help myself.

Butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I walked out of my dormitory and headed up to the Room of Requirement.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

As I walked through the castle, I received numerous stares as people witnessed me, dressed in this gown, making my way somewhere in the castle for some obviously special occasion. But I steeled myself and forced myself not to look at them as I headed up to the seventh floor.

The corridor was mercifully empty, and my heels clicked against the slick tile much louder than I had anticipated. I check my watch – five minutes to 7. I wasn't quite sure what to do – would Draco come out of the room and lead me in, or would I have to pace here myself and simply think of Draco and whatever he was doing in there?

"You're early," I heard him say as he approached from where I had come from, dressed in his own dress robes.

"Couldn't wait," I said nervously.

"You look stunning," he said, giving me and my dress an approving nod before leaning in for a kiss.

"Thank you," I said. "You clean up well," I commented, reciprocating the compliment.

"I know," he said smugly, but laughed when he saw my eyeroll. "Shall we go in then?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Pace away," I said, gesturing to a blank stretch of floor where he could walk. He passed me three times, and finally that familiar door appeared.

"Ready?" he asked, building anticipation.

"Just open it!" I urged him, unable to wait any longer. He opened the door slowly, and I stepped into the most beautiful setting I have _ever_ seen.

It didn't seem like we were in the castle anymore. The door led us outside, to a beautiful rose garden with a paved pathway. Draco closed the door and the scene grew darker, but I noticed twinkling lights in the bushes. I looked closer and saw that they were fairies.

Rose petals covered the pathway, leading off into the distance. I couldn't see where it ended.

I looked up into a light canopy of trees, and saw the night sky with its billions of stars sparkling at me merrily. I could hardly breathe.

"You like it?" Draco asked, taking my hand.

"It's magnificent," I whispered, still taking it all in.

"We haven't even gotten to the best part yet," he told me with a grin.

"You really went all out," I commented as we walked down the path, my heels [unfortunately] crushing the pink rose petals on the ground.

"Only for you," he replied smoothly.

We made our way down the path slowly, enjoying our 'midnight' walk in silence. The rose bushes were only waist-high, so I could see what was up ahead fairly well – the path was winding and long, and it seemed like it would never end.

"Where does this lead?" I asked him, doubtful that I would really get a straight answer.

"It leads us here," he said, gesturing to a small round table set for two people that seemed to appear out of nowhere. I smiled, unable to believe my eyes.

The round table was draped in a pure white tablecloth, with a single, solitary candle burning merrily in the center. Our places were already set with fine china, and our water goblets were filled.

My heart seemed to stop. He did all of this for me?

"It's beautiful," I whispered, bringing my free hand up to my chest in surprise. I subconsciously fingered the ballerina necklace that Draco had given me for Christmas – the only piece of jewelry I ever wore.

"I hope you're hungry," he said, guiding me to my chair and pulling it out for me.

"Starving," I confessed as I sat down gratefully, relieving my weight from my stylish, yet somewhat painful, heels.

Once Draco was settled into his seat, our plates instantly filled themselves with the most magnificent, mouth-watering food I had ever had the pleasure to smell.

"What, did you work with the House Elves downstairs or something?" I asked as I inhaled the tantalizing aroma.

He shrugged. "Perhaps," he merely replied, picking up his utensils and digging in.

We ate in silence, consuming our medium-rare steak, mashed potatoes, and corn as we admired our surroundings. It wasn't an _awkward_ silence – it was peaceful, and comfortable. Besides, I didn't want to ruin the moment talking about what was on my mind – I figured we would be able to save that for later.

Soon the food was gone and the water goblets were empty. I sat there, looking around at the twinkling fairies and sparkling stars, when I heard music begin to faintly play. I looked over at Draco, who had already gotten up from his chair.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his arm outstretched. I grinned and took it, standing up and following him to an open stretch of the pebbled pathway. The music was recognizable, and it had a very distinct three-four time. I wasn't sure how Draco wanted us to dance, but when he put his arms around me, I noticed they were in excellent waltz form.

"I didn't know you knew how to waltz," I said as we began gliding around the makeshift dance floor.

"I can't go and spoil all of my surprises at once, you know," he said simply, with that genuine smile. We separated so he could turn me, and my dress flared out before returning and curling around my legs as we resumed our hold.

We continued to dance for as long as the song permitted, with many turns, and the occasional dip. When the music faded to silence, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him to me.

"The best night of my life," I declared when we pulled apart.

"I'm not finished yet," he said instead, and my jaw dropped.

"What else could you have for me? Draco, this is already magnificent; now I just feel bad that you've had to go through all of this," I confessed as he slung his arm around my shoulders and led me down another section of the path that we hadn't crossed yet.

"Trust me, love, this wasn't really my idea," he confessed. "When I got in here, it was just – there. But I figured it could be useful." I stared at him quizzically, but when I looked ahead again, I saw what he meant.

Standing in front of us was a gorgeous room, encased by glass windows. It seemed like some sort of bedroom, separated from a house. Three of its walls were made entirely of glass, and the roof hung low and angular, though inside it towered up into a point, allowing room for a magnificent chandelier to hang just above the king-sized bed sitting comfortably in the middle.

"Not your idea my arse," I muttered jokingly.

"It wasn't!" he insisted as we walked on and entered the room.

Once inside, the room seemed so much bigger than it looked on the outside. As I explored, I discovered that we had our own bathroom, closet, and wardrobe, completely stocked with dressing gowns, towels, and other bathroom/bedroom necessities.

"Are you expecting we stay here for the rest of the year?" I said jokingly, peeking into the bathroom.

"I wish," Draco muttered, already taking off the layers of his dressing robes.

"I hope you don't expect anything to happen tonight," I told him, my voice light, but my statement serious. The second night in a row I was to spend the night with Draco in a large, comfy bed, completely secluded from the rest of the world. If he was trying to seduce me, it was starting to get very hard to resist.

"I don't," he said, and I could tell he was serious. "But you don't really want to go to sleep in that gorgeous gown, do you?"

"Good point," I said, heading over to the wardrobe to pick out a dressing gown for me to change into. I picked a gorgeous, silky pink one, and stepped inside the bathroom, leaving the door open just a crack so I could still talk to Draco.

"So when did you learn how to waltz?" I asked casually, unzipping my dress and letting it slip to the floor.

"My mother forced me when I was young," he confessed, his voice sounding oddly close. I turned around and caught him trying to sneak a peek.

"Hey, now," I said jokingly, covering myself up. He scowled and looked away, but I could see that smile on his face. "I bet you didn't think it would come in handy in the future," I continued, slipping on the gown and hanging up the dress.

"I thought it was pointless, I have to admit," he said.

"Well it definitely is incredibly useful for wooing other girls," I mentioned as I stepped out of the bathroom.

"I won't be 'wooing' anyone but you," he said, his back turned. His bare back turned. He was only wearing boxers – sleek, silk, green boxers, but boxers nonetheless. And when he turned around, I think both of our breaths caught in our throats.

Now I think I know the meaning of Quidditch-toned muscles. It wasn't like he was one of those nasty Muggle body-builders with hulking shoulders and overpowering pecs. Thank God he wasn't. But his six-pack was very prominent and his pecs seemed firm and taut. And damn him and those boxers – they were pulled down so low I could see the indentations of his hips.

On the other hand, my own robe was rather short, showing an ample amount of leg. It seemed to be slipping open a little at the neck, and I was only wearing my bra and underwear underneath.

I suppose we both looked rather hot.

"Sh-shall we?" Draco stuttered, gesturing to the bed. I grinned, finding his speechlessness rather amusing, and climbed in, under the covers, meeting him in the middle.

We curled up together, his right arm supporting me while his left lay comfortably on his stomach. I rested my head on his shoulder, placing my arm protectively on his body, feeling those firm muscles for the first time.

We lay that way in silence for a long while, drinking each other in and enjoying the time we had together. But I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering down to his left forearm, where the Dark Mark could be seen, plainly sticking out on his pale skin.

"What was it like?" I whispered, bringing his arm up and running my fingers lightly along the hideous Mark. It seemed to move at my touch.

"It was horrible," he said quietly, and I could feel him quiver underneath me. "The pain was unbelievable. And I just – I wasn't ready. That made it even worse."

"Why did you even do it?"

"I felt like I had no choice. My parents were expecting it from me, and I couldn't – I couldn't let them down. I just wanted to prove that I'm capable."

"There are other ways of proving yourself," I said quietly, no longer fixated on the Mark, and now more concentrated on his slender fingers.

"I know that now," he replied, kissing the top of my head.

I inhaled deeply and let go of his hand, snuggling up to him tighter. "Did you ever think you would feel like this?" I asked, looking up into his eyes.

"I never gave it much thought," he admitted. "What about you? Was this everything you ever imagined?"

"It's more," I replied happily.

"God, I love you so much," he said softly after staring into my eyes for a few silent seconds.

"And I love you," I replied, losing myself in the mindblowingly passionate kiss.

It was the last night we'd spend like this in a long time.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Over the next week, Draco and I planned our breakup. That sounds so odd to say – we 'planned' our break up. But we did. We came up with scenarios and dialogue, with actions and plans, times and places. We decided we had to do it quickly – we couldn't risk any more time passing.

It was already agreed that the Room of Requirement was to be our secret meeting place. It seemed like a given. It was already our place, anyway.

One day during the week, Draco gave me a Galleon, and told me this was how we were to communicate.

"There's a Protean Charm on it. Whatever I put on my coin will transfer to yours. It'll burn slightly when you get a new message, so you'll know straightaway that I need you," he told me. It really was extraordinary magic.

"The Room of Requirement will only open if you tell it exactly what to turn into," he told me on another day. "So if one of us is already in there, we need a specific location to tell it. Mine will be the garden," he said.

"I'll take the dance studio," I replied immediately.

The plans were being set. The time was almost here.

The night before it was supposed to happen, we were back in the Room of Requirement, in the same bedroom that Draco had brought me to the very first time he took me here.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Draco confessed, unable to look at me.

"You have to," I said firmly. "And when I run out of the Great Hall, you can't come after me. No matter how much you want to," I instructed.

"But," he began, but I cut him off.

"We have to make this believable. If you really were using me, you wouldn't rush after me when I got upset. You'd laugh in my face."

He looked tortured.

"You're a good actor," I commented, almost jokingly. "We can do this."

"Just remember that everything I say tomorrow is a lie," he said.

"I have to believe that it's true," I told him. "In the back of my mind, I know it's a lie. But I need to think that it's all true. It'll be the only way to get people to believe this."

It seemed like he was the one that was going to get his heart broken in front of the entire school. I seemed to be braver than him at that moment – but I wasn't. I was terrified. And even though I knew it was coming, even though I knew what he was going to do and say, I knew it wouldn't make it any easier to hear. But I needed to be strong. For him.

The morning of Friday, February 20th, came as it did every morning. For everyone else, at least. But not for me.

Draco and I had spent the night together in the Room of Requirement once more, only to help the authenticity of our story. But when I woke up, he was no longer there.

It was part of the plan, but it was still disconcerting, waking up to an empty room – a void where Draco used to be. On his pillow lay a note with three simple words. _"I love you."_

And even though I was dreading what was to come; even though I knew that my heart was about to get broken and I was about to be humiliated in front of the entire school, that tiny note – those three simple words – gave me enough strength to get up and get ready for the day.

I stopped just by the door, knowing that the moment I left that room, everything would change. I tried to prepare myself, but there was no preparation for what was to come. So I took a deep breath and exited the room, making my way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

As I passed by student after student, I was met with sniggering, laughter, and a few sharp glares. Everyone was staring at me as though they all knew something I didn't.

I entered the Great Hall, and it seemed like a huge spotlight was cast on me. Nearly every eye found me as I entered. I ignored it all and looked for Draco, but it wasn't too hard to find him.

There he was, sitting on top of the Slytherin table, surrounded by the very people whom I couldn't stand. They were all laughing, and as I approached, I could hear him say, "She wasn't that bad – y'know, for a Muggle loving blood traitor."

"Draco?" I inquired, causing his audience to turn and look at me – they all had triumphant grins on their faces. Pansy seemed to have tears in her eyes – tears from laughing so hard, that is. "You – you left early," I said timidly. He looked at me as though he didn't recognize me. Then he burst out laughing, followed shortly by his little following.

"Of course I left early, you twit," he said scathingly. "You think I wanted to spend any more time in bed with you than necessary? Please. Thanks for last night, though. You really satisfied my – urges," he said with a loaded glance toward Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini.

"I – I don't," I began as tears sprang to my eyes. "I don't understand."

"Do I have to put it in simpler terms for you, filthy muggle lover? You didn't honestly think that I was actually _in love_ with you, did you? Are you really that stupid?" he said. "I just wanted to see how long it took for you to give yourself to me. Three months – not exactly my record, but that's a lot faster than most of us were expecting. Goyle owes me 20 Galleons, anyway."

Comprehension dawned on my distraught features. I glanced around at the Great Hall and saw everyone sniggering – and those who weren't, were desperately trying to cover up the smiles that were threatening to crack on their faces. I was being humiliated – my heart was being torn out of my chest – and this is how they reacted? Was the world really that horrible, that they all got some joy out of seeing someone else's misfortune?

"I trusted you," I whispered.

"That was your mistake, love," he replied smoothly.

"I loved you!" I exclaimed. "Damnit, Draco, I thought that you had changed. I thought that you might actually be a decent person. How could I have been so stupid?" I asked myself as I turned around and swept out of the Great Hall.

But not before Draco could squeeze in, "Perhaps it's all those Muggles messing with your mind!"

I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. I needed to vomit. How had things gone to shit so quickly?

I had to get somewhere. I had to get away. But where? I zoomed past corridor after corridor, past students who gave me worried looks and others who gave me mental looks. Everything was a blur, and I could hardly make out enough shapes and objects through my nearly blinded eyes to avoid crashing into them.

I had made myself vulnerable; had put my heart out on my sleeve, and waited for Draco to take it. I had trusted him with the very thing that I had kept guarded for my entire life; I believed that maybe – just _maybe_ I could actually fall in love.

I should have seen it coming. I should have known.

But I did see it coming. I did know. I knew this was all a lie. I hoped it was convincing – he seemed pretty damn convincing to me.

We had agreed to meet in the Room of Requirement – in my dance studio – two hours after the break up. But I didn't know where else to go. I needed to escape everyone's judgmental eyes, needed to get away from the sniggering and amusement. So I went there early.

Two hours came and went in the blink of an eye. By then my tears were dried, and sweat was on my brow from a good dancing session. And then the door opened.

I ran into Draco's arms, but he was already muttering, "I'm so sorry."

"Are you kidding? That was a brilliant performance. Do you think they bought it?"

"I'm pretty sure everyone believes we are officially over," he confirmed, but he still had that guilty look on his face. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Draco," I emphasized. "But it seems like I should be asking you the same thing," I added.

He shrugged. "I'm alright," he said passively.

I frowned. "No, you're not," I declared. "I'm fine, Draco," I repeated. "And we did it! I'm safe now."

"I can only hope," he replied. I sighed, but didn't know what else to say.

And, as it turned out, we had a lot more to worry about than we bargained for.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

March First began like any ordinary day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Draco and I had been 'broken up' for a little over two weeks now, and it was a rather hard adjustment to make. The only time we could spend together was after hours. Our tutoring sessions were cancelled, as per Dumbledore's request – he figured it would be more believable if I had 'insisted' they end. After all, would it be very likely that I would continue with our tutoring sessions, had Draco _really_ treated me that way? Of course not.

We used our Galleons occasionally, but knew it was better to spare our meetings. It was so painful, seeing him at the Slytherin table or walking around with Pansy and his other cronies, and knowing I couldn't just go up to him and pull him away.

With the sudden decrease in our time together, I assume Draco had put more effort into continuing with his plan to kill Dumbledore. I realized with fear that I hadn't done much to stop him – I was too preoccupied with Valentine's Day, and then our plan, and then our 'breakup' to consider what I could do to stop him. I was afraid I was too late – that he was too far along with his plan to stop it, even if I did find a way.

That morning I woke up in my dorm room rather late, as the rest of the girls had already gone down to breakfast. I was getting used to the solitude – it was starting to get back to what my life was like before I fell in love with Draco. Apart from that burning, empty feeling in my heart, of course.

I headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast as usual. I was still suffering from a bit of backlash from the 'breakup' – but more or less, it was old news. People continued to avoid me, but I was used to it – and I quite preferred it that way, anyway. But my peaceful, solitary breakfast was soon interrupted.

A Hufflepuff girl came running in, frantic and hysterical. "Ron Weasley's been poisoned!" she exclaimed, loud enough for the entire Hall to hear the first time. And at once, it seemed to explode in fear and shock. "What happened?" "Is he alright?" several people seemed to shout at once. I got up from my seat to see above the heads of the people who had crowded around the girl.

"Harry Potter's saved him with a bezoar!" she declared, relieving the worried. "But I don't know what's happened; I just saw him being carried out of Professor Slughorn's office just now."

Well, at least he was safe. But several things registered in my mind at once – poison. Slughorn. Weasley.

Draco.

I don't know how I came to that conclusion – but I just knew. I knew Draco had something to do with this, just like he had something to do with what happened to Katie Bell.

I was already running up to the Room of Requirement when I felt my Galleon burn.

"Draco?" I exclaimed when I burst into the serene garden. My voice sounded discordant and out of place in its beauty. "Draco!" I called out when I couldn't find him. I walked rapidly along the path, heading to the 'poolhouse,' as I had come to call it, despite the absence of an actual pool. I saw him there, through the glass window – he was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. "Oh, shit," I whispered to myself as I ran the rest of the way.

I burst in through the door unceremoniously. Draco looked up, his face clearly agonized.

"I – I didn't mean for it –" he began. I rushed over to him and took him in my arms.

"Shhh," I said soothingly. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." I don't know why I was saying that – everything most certainly was not going to be okay. But I figured it's what Draco needed to hear the most at that moment.

"Everything is happening all wrong," he said from over my shoulder, his voice sounding different; distraught.

"Nobody got hurt," I said reassuringly. But that really was beside the point. The _real_ point was that someone was **supposed** to get hurt. Dumbledore. The _problem_ was that someone else got hurt.

"He almost died," he mumbled, squeezing me tightly. "I know I don't like the bloke, but he – he almost died."

I ignored the little voice in my head, telling me that Draco's entire plan involved somebody dying. I knew he didn't need a critical opinion – he just needed comfort and reassurance.

"But he's fine," I said soothingly. "Harry saved him with a bezoar." Wrong thing to say.

"Potter," he spat, pulling away from me. "Always around to save the day. He's always got to play the hero, doesn't he? I expect you're more attracted to that – the good, noble side." It was a complete 180 – an unexpected jab at an unexpected time. He was starting to crack, starting to deteriorate. I knew it was just the stress that made him say that, so I let it go.

"There's Potter, always saving the day when I fuck up. And then there's me, plotting ways to kill my own headmaster," he began, pacing the room frantically. "You have no business being here with me. I'm too dangerous," he continued. "I could get you killed. No one should have gotten hurt. But people just keep getting hurt." He was becoming more hysterical with every step he took. I got up from my place on the bed and caught him in the middle.

"Shut up," I said softly, snaking my arms around him and pulling him toward me.

"I'm sorry," he muttered when we pulled apart. "I'm just really—"

"Scared?" I finished for him. He sighed and nodded. "So am I, Draco. Please – don't go through with this."

"I have to," he said agonizingly.

"It's not too late! You can still find a way out!" I pleaded with him. Instead, he escaped my grasp once more, walking over to the other side of the room.

"You don't think I can do it," he accused. "You're just like my mother. I'll prove to you that I can."

"It's not a question of whether you can or can't do it, Draco. It's a question of whether you live or die trying!" I exclaimed. "How many more people are going to get hurt because of this mission? How many, Draco?" I asked, laying on the guilt. I hated seeing him so tortured – I hated being the cause of it. But he needed to see reason. He needed to see it from a different perspective.

"You can do _anything_ you want to do. I know you're capable of anything you set your mind to. But you're not a murderer, Draco."

"How can you be so sure?" he said, quivering, unable to look me in the eye.

I walked over to meet him once more.

"Because I love you," I said, trying to make eye contact with him. "And you love me. And anybody who has love in their life knows better than to take it away from anyone else."

Draco said nothing, and I wrapped my arms around his neck in an effort to get him to look at me. "Dumbledore can help you, Draco," I said softly. "He can give you and your whole family protection. You don't have to bare this burden anymore."

He was silent for a few more seconds, but finally managed to look into my eyes. At the same time, he put his arms around me, holding me close. "I know you love me, and I know you're worried," he began. "But you have to understand that I can't end this until it's over. I never start something and not finish it. I'm so close. I can't stop now."

I sighed, disappointed that he didn't agree. But I couldn't blame him. I knew he had that whole pride thing going on. But it didn't make it any easier to hear. He was pretty much just walking into his own death trap. If not literally, then metaphorically. Even if, by some horrific turn of events, Dumbledore died at Draco's hands, then Draco would forever be considered a murderer – he'd be on the run; and if he was ever caught, then he'd be sent to Azkaban. And even if he was somehow protected by the other Death Eaters, he'd never be able to escape their grasp.

It was a lose-lose situation.

"What do you expect will happen when it's over?" I asked him, avoiding his gaze. "You think Voldemort will just let you and your mother go? That life will go back to normal?"

"I don't know, Astoria," he said tiredly.

"No one wins. If you succeed, someone dies. If you don't -." I couldn't say it. "Either way, I lose you."

"You're not losing me," he said, holding me tighter.

"How can you be so sure we'll ever see each other again? How can you be so confident that Voldemort will allow you the happiness that I give you?" I pleaded.

"The only thing I'm sure of is that he'll kill me if I don't finish this," he said urgently. "Everything else we can figure out when it's over."

There was nothing left to say. But I couldn't help myself from thinking it'll be pretty hard to figure things out if we're both dead.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

As March continued on, the news of Ron Weasley's poisoning eventually dwindled until it sputtered out completely. Everyone simply assumed that it was an accident, seeing as though he was in the Potions Master's office at the time. And, since he was saved almost immediately, the students' attentions turned to other matters.

Most of the students were more concerned with the upcoming Quidditch match that would determine the finalists for the Quidditch Cup. I wasn't too fussed about it – sporting events were never really my thing. In any case, it's not like I really had a team to support.

Since my tutoring sessions with Draco had been cancelled, I was no longer going to his classes. I still kept the Time-Turner around my neck, however, mostly out of habit than anything. Without the added work load, I had much more time to concentrate on my subjects, and study for my O.W.L.'s which were coming up so fast it was unbelievable.

It really did seem as though things had returned to how they had been before Draco and I became an item. We were spending more time apart – me with my studying, him with his plan. I hardly saw him anymore, except to steal really quick, secretive kisses in secluded corridors, or the occasional hand brush between classes.

Draco had told me to stay away from the Room of Requirement, as that was where he was working on his plan. It was hard, avoiding that stretch of seventh floor corridor. I found myself constantly wishing that I could just be in there – in any of the rooms I had shared with Draco. Or maybe even just my dance studio – it had become my second home.

Instead, I was forced to retreat to the choir room once more, and soon my late-night dance sessions became as routine as they were before.

The Quidditch match came and went – a rather interesting one, I must admit. With Luna Lovegood commentating, it was certainly a riot, and Gryffindor's new Keeper, Cormac McLaggen, seemed to be causing more chaos than order on the pitch. The match ended with a Hufflepuff victory – they completely demolished Gryffindor, three hundred and twenty, to sixty. I watched from a distance – the parapets from one of the taller towers in the castle provided a nice view, and Luna's commentating was carried over the short distance between the pitch up to the castle. I knew Draco wasn't there, so I knew it would have been pointless to look for him. I'd seen him going up to the Room of Requirement with two young girls in tow – though I already knew they were Crabbe and Goyle. The poor blokes.

Ron Weasley was able to leave the hospital wing just nine days after getting poisoned – an exceptionally fast recovery, especially compared to the fact that Katie Bell still was in St. Mungo's, nearly six months after her incident. Gryffindor welcomed him back warmly, but I saw Draco's face pale visibly at breakfast when he caught sight of the newly recovered ginger-haired lad.

It soon came to a point where Draco and I only had time for each other once a week – well, more realistically, I always had time for him. But he was so busy with whatever he was doing in the Room of Requirement that he only spared one night a week for me. And sometimes he even forgot about that.

"I'm sorry," he said one morning after one of those skipped dates, in the same deserted corridor we stood in on Halloween night. "I've just been so preoccupied with what I'm doing," he started, trying to explain.

"Don't worry about it," I mumbled, more to get him to stop talking than anything. I had no idea it would be so damn hard to adjust. I had been so fine with my life before, and normally I really wouldn't care about being alone all the time. But since Draco and I fell in love, adjusting to this new solitude was harder than I expected. I had grown so used to being around him, grown so used to feeling his love and compassion and knowing that he was there for me. And now it seemed like I was thrust into my old life, with all of my memories from my new one. And it was just hard.

"Hey," he frowned, sensing my discomfort. He placed his hands around my hips, holding me. "I really am sorry."

"How much longer will this take, Draco?" I asked, my voice tired. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he said meaningfully. "And I'm almost done. It'll be over soon."

Yes. It'll all be over. Soon.

Days turned to weeks, and March bled into April in a wave of amazing weather and endless amounts of homework. To my professors' dismay, it seemed as though my boundless knack for taking on any spell or potion was running out of steam – it was taking me slightly longer to catch on to the curriculum than it normally did. I was finding myself significantly more morose and dejected than usual, and often found myself staring at my open textbooks and blank parchment with blank, glossed-over eyes.

Draco had much more going on for him – Apparition lessons were taking place on Saturdays, and he's been in the Room of Requirement every single night. His grades were starting to suffer – though they weren't as horrible as they were before, they were taking a turn for the worse. I would gladly take up my post as his tutor once more, but I kept forgetting the fact that we were supposed to be broken up – and I was supposed to hate him.

If any of the other students even noticed a change in my behavior, they probably would constitute it to that horrible break up scene, despite the fact that it had taken place nearly two months ago. It was hard to believe that's how long it had been – it sounded so long when I said it; but it felt even longer.

Katie Bell returned to Hogwarts on the 22nd of April – a few weeks before the Championship Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Everyone was ecstatic to see her return – even I was significantly grateful that she had suffered no lasting damage, and that all of those months in St. Mungo's had essentially cured her.

The moment she was back at school, she was bombarded with questions as to what happened, and who did this to her. But I already knew. I didn't have to ask any questions. Of course, I didn't know all the details. But I knew Draco was responsible.

And as I watched her euphoric return, surrounded at her place at the Gryffindor table at breakfast that day, my head swiveled to survey Draco and his reaction.

He caught my eye, and I could see the pain and horror and fear and guilt that resided behind those hooded, bloodshot eyes. I made a sympathetic face, wishing more than anything I could go over there and comfort him. Suddenly, he got up from the table, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind, and walked out of the Great Hall.

I watched him, confused, when I felt something on my hip warm up slightly. My Galleon! We hadn't used it in so long; I had nearly forgotten it was there.

I checked it, even though I already knew what it said. And five minutes later, I left the Great Hall as well, on my way up to the familiar seventh floor corridor that I hadn't been to in weeks.

I paced a small stretch of floor, imagining the gorgeous garden that Draco had created for me. The door appeared as I expected it to, and I walked into the familiar landscape, heading straight for the poolhouse at the other end.

Draco wasn't crying this time – he didn't look as scared or distraught as he did when we last were here. But he had a manic look in his eye; his hair was disheveled, his tie loosened.

"How are you holding up?" I asked as I stepped over the threshold and sat on the bed next to him.

He didn't respond.

"She's perfectly fine, Draco," I said soothingly. "Healthy, safe."

"What if she remembers something?" he whispered. "What if she figures out it was me?"

"She already said she doesn't remember anything," I mentioned.

"I just – it's hard to even look at her without thinking that I could have – that she could have—" he began.

"But she didn't," I said, cutting him off. "Draco, you have to stop thinking this way," I said, putting my hand over his. "There are risks – there's danger in everything. The fact of the matter is that no one died. Everyone is okay. The more you think about what could have happened, the more frightened you're going to become," I said wisely. "Dwelling on the past does nothing for your future."

"I missed this," he said with a sigh after a few seconds of silence.

"Come here," I said, pulling him in for a tight embrace. I nuzzled my face in the nape of his neck, kissing him on the cheek. "You're going to be fine," I said soothingly.

"Now that I have you," he added.

I smiled, and placed my lips on his in a kiss that seemed to lose me forever.

When we pulled away, I sighed. "It's Monday," I mentioned. "Class is going to start soon."

"Skip it," Draco responded immediately. I smiled and chuckled.

"You know I would never skip class," I said, reluctantly pulling away from him and reaching for my bookbag, a few feet away on the bed. He pouted, slightly annoyed.

"Cheer up," I said, giving him another soft kiss. "We can do this later tonight, if you like."

"I can't," he replied, and disappointment flooded my body. I tried not to let it show, though, so I kept my face relatively expressionless, merely lifting one side of my mouth, as if to say 'it figures.'

"I'm sorry," he added, getting up and picking up his bag as well. "I want to. I really do. I'm just so—"

"—Busy." I said, finishing his sentence. "Yeah, I know." I led the way out of the pool house and down the winding, cobblestone path to the front door.

"I still love you," he whispered once we arrived at the door.

"I still love you, too," I replied softly. "I'm just so afraid for you."

"I'll always be there for you," he said, tucking a few strands of my hair behind my ear. "And if you ever doubt that, remember you have this," he ran his fingers gently over the ballerina necklace resting lightly on my neck.

I placed my hand over his, which was still resting on my necklace. "I'll never doubt it," I told him. "But thank you."

We kissed for the final time, before leaving the Room of Requirement together.

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

I received an owl the next morning from my mother, ordering me back home for the Easter holidays. No explanation. No please. Just: _You're coming home for Easter. See you then._

Naturally, I was outraged. I hadn't been planning to return home for Easter – I needed this time to study for my O.W.L.'s, and maybe spend a little time with Draco – if at all possible. And the letter itself was insulting – I deserved to know why I was coming home for a week.

I immediately swept up to Daphne, who had also received a letter. I saw from a distance that her letter was significantly longer than mine. Furious, I approached her. "Do you know why we're going home for Easter?" I demanded. She jumped, startled, and hastily hid the letter from my eyes.

"No," she said, unconvincingly. She was looking at me as though I were a three headed flesh eating slug.

"Your letter is much longer than mine. What does it say, Daphne?"

"Just a bunch of crap about – stuff," she said airly. It was so obvious that she was hiding something from me.

"Fine!" I exclaimed, fed up. "You can tell Mother that I'm not going, since she obviously loves you more than she loves me. It's not as though I'll be missed." I stalked away angrily, but Daphne's voice stopped me.

"Wait!" she said. "You have to go, Astoria."

"And why exactly is it necessary?" I asked, spinning around to face her.

"It's just – it's a surprise," she confessed. The length of the letter probably instructed Daphne to make sure I was on that train back to London for the Easter holidays.

"A surprise? Like I'm actually going to believe that," I scoffed. "What's really going on, Daphne?"

"Look, I don't even know, okay?! The letter just says make sure you come. Mum promised me a new wardrobe if I convinced you to come."

I rolled my eyes. Of course Daphne would only do something if she got something else in return.

"Ugh, this is so fucked," I muttered, sweeping out of the Great Hall angrily.

"So you're coming, right?" Daphne called after me. "I need that new wardrobe!" I ignored her and kept on walking.

I couldn't believe that my parents just expected me to drop everything I had here at the school and travel back to London. Didn't they have any idea what I was going through? I mean, obviously they didn't know about Draco and all of that stuff, but I was in the middle of studying for my O.W.L.s. Besides, they knew how much I hated being there. So what was the point of this little rendezvous? It's not like we were going to drink tea in the garden and discuss how school has been so far. If anything, it would be a complete and utter waste of my time.

But I couldn't fight it. They were my parents; I wasn't yet of age, and it was an order. It wasn't a request. It wasn't optional.

"I really don't want to go," I told Draco the night before I was set to leave. He had actually spared a night for me, and we were lying in bed in the poolhouse. My belongings were packed and resting safely by the door, much to my utter dismay.

"I really don't want you to go," he replied, stroking my hair.

"It's ridiculous. I don't even know why I'm going home."

"Five days," he sighed. "Hopefully it'll pass in no time?"

"Not likely," I mumbled.

And I had no idea how right I really was.

Morning came, despite my complete desire for it not to. The clock in the room chimed 9 in the morning – the Hogwarts Express was set to leave at 11 o'clock, leaving me two hours to eat breakfast, gather my things, say goodbye, and wait for the train at Hogsmeade station.

And though we were already awake, Draco and I lay there for thirty minutes, not saying anything – just enjoying the time we had together.

But eventually our growling stomachs became too vicious to ignore, and we were forced to get up and escape our solace in search of some well-cooked food before I was sent to my doom.

Before we left the Room of Requirement, I stopped just at the door and looked back at the magnificent garden that I had grown so accustomed to. I sighed, trying to absorb every single centimeter of the place into my memory, as I wouldn't be able to visit it for an entire week.

Or so I thought.

Oh, I see that I'm going a bit overboard with the foreshadowing. Alright, alright, I'll get to the good part.

Draco and I were forced to separate [unfortunately] during breakfast, and even during our journey to Hogsmeade station, where he insisted he escort me before saying goodbye. We did, after all, have to keep up the illusion that I still hated his guts – even though all I wanted him to do right now was hold me and prevent me from getting on that train and going home.

As I waited on that crowded platform, twenty minutes before the train was set to leave, I caught Draco's eye, standing several yards away from me. He nodded his head to the left, gesturing to some sort of alley. With my belongings in tow, I made my way across the platform and followed him into the dark, secluded alley.

Once sure we couldn't be seen by anyone else, I hurriedly wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close. I knew that it wasn't even that big of a deal – leaving him for one week; we'd spent a longer time apart before. But then again, I was still able to _see_ him, whether in the corridors or in the common room. He was still in the general vicinity. But he would be no where near London when I arrived home. It was going to be so different.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you," I whispered.

"It's probably not half as much as I'll miss you," he whispered back. We pressed our foreheads together, before we simultaneously leaned in for a soft, meaningful, passionate, love-filled kiss.

"Oh, will you look at that," a sneering drawl I did not recognize said, coming from the shadows. Draco and I pulled apart immediately and turned to face our intruder. My heart was racing a million miles a minute. "Young love," the female voice taunted. I was expecting – I don't know. Perhaps Rita Skeeter? Or maybe some student that I simply didn't know. But the woman who stepped out from the shadows was definitely the furthest person in my mind.

"Aunt Bellatrix?" Draco asked. "What are you doing here?" his voice seemed strange – not as pleasant or surprised as a normal boy would sound when seeing his aunt in an unexpected place. Then again, not many boys' aunts are convicted sociopathic Death Eaters.

"Checking up on you, dear Draco. Though, I can see that she's already been doing that for you," she said, eyeing me. "Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend, Draco?" she said, her voice sickeningly sweet – much too sweet to even be considered genuine.

"She's not," he said immediately. At first I felt a slight stab at the heart, but then I remembered that no one was supposed to know we were going out - ESPECIALLY a dangerous, crazy Death Eater like Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Not nice to lie to your aunt, Draco," she drawled, taking a few steps closer.

Then suddenly I felt someone behind me. "Mmm, she smells absolutely appetizing," came a raspy voice at my back. I tried to spin around to see who – or what it was, but was caught by it instead.

"Let her go!" Draco exclaimed. His face paled as he tried to glare at my captor.

"Excellent taste, Draco," he wheezed, and I was hit with a horrid whiff of a putrid smell that made me gag. I struggled against his grip, but his arms held firm around my waist. I noticed his arms were much hairier than any normal man's. "She's scrumptious," he continued, sniffing my hair.

"Oh, God," I said out loud in disgust as I struggled against his grip once more. "Let go of me!"

"Not so fast, my sweet," Bellatrix said, observing the scene with intense curiosity. "It seems like you've become a little distracting in dear Draco's assignment." She looked up at my captor. "Maybe we should eliminate her?"

"My pleasure," the raspy voice said.

"NO!" Draco said forcefully. "She's nothing – she had nothing to do with this. I'm nearly done, Aunt Bellatrix, I just need a little bit more time!" he pleaded.

"Time is nearly out," she commented, idly playing with her wand and tilting her head back and forth. The manic gleam in her eye never went away. She sighed. "I suppose we can't kill her just yet," she mused. The grip on my arms was starting to hurt, and it only tightened when I struggled to break free. "What say you, Greyback?"

Greyback? As in - _Fenrir_ Greyback? The werewolf? A shudder went through my entire body as I realized exactly who my captor was, and I felt tears of fear well up in my eyes. I realized in horror that it didn't look like I was getting out of this safely.

"I think she's much too tasty to resist," he wheezed.

"That's what I thought," she replied.

"No!" Draco yelled, as I screamed, "Please, don't!" at the same time. Bellatrix stopped in her tracks and turned to look at Draco with a triumphant expression.

"She means a lot to you, doesn't she?" she stated rhetorically, circling Draco. He didn't respond. "Hm," she said thoughtfully, tapping her wand on her cheek. "She could be useful after all," she said softly. Draco's eyes darted up and caught his aunt's, flashing with anger.

"She's completely innocent. Leave her out of this. I don't need any more incentive, the job is almost complete."

"Yes, but a little motivation never hurt anyone," Bellatrix murmured, unfazed by Draco's anger and desperation. Her head snapped in my direction. "Take her," she instructed the werewolf.

"What? No! No, please!" I pleaded, struggling against the strong grip of the werewolf's arms as he began to drag me away, deeper down the dark corridor. The tears were now streaming down my face as I watched Draco try and fight for me.

"Let her go! Stop! Please!" he screamed, but apparently Bellatrix was casting some kind of force field between us, because it seemed as though Draco were stuck behind a portion of solid air. "Astoria!" he screamed, pushing against the air.

"Draco!" I screamed, reaching out for him. But I knew it was no use. I knew it was pointless. Every second that passed by, I was getting further and further away from him as I was being dragged effortlessly away by the gruesome werewolf. "Draco!" I screamed again. "Help! Someone! Please! Anyone!" I began shouting, just to draw attention to me.

We turned a corner, and Draco was gone. My last image of him was of desperation – his eyes were rimmed red as tears streamed from them, and his mouth was pulled into a grimace of fear and guilt. He was shouting for me - struggling against the invisible barrier.

And then he was gone.

"_Silencio_," Bellatrix commanded, pointing her wand at me. My screams stopped immediately, nothing coming out of my mouth but air. It seemed as though my vocal cords were numb – they failed to work, no matter how hard I tried. My crying increased tenfold as I realized the situation I was in. Would I ever see the love of my life again?

I no longer comprehended where we were going – did it really even matter? I was being kidnapped – Draco was left alone, my parents were going to be furious when I don't show in London, and I had no idea how much longer my life would last. My sobs became uncontrollable, causing my whole body to shake. Greyback's grip actually slipped.

"Can't we sedate her or something?" he muttered, trying to get a better hold on my shaking body.

"Give her here," Bellatrix said, her voice sounding bored and uninterested. Greyback picked me up and held me straight, but I refused to look at the horrid murderer in front of me.

"You're a right interesting one, aren't you?" she murmured, observing me with watchful and curious eyes. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable underneath her creepy, maniacal gaze. "Getting little Draco to fall in love, aw, now isn't that sweet." I glared at her, and if I was able to speak, I was sure that a few choice expletives would have fallen out of my mouth. My face was wet with my tears, my vision blurry and barely able to focus. My head hurt – a kind of intense throbbing at my temple, probably from my exertion from when I tried to scream. "You could prove yourself useful," she said, tilting her head one way. "Greengrass, is it? Your parents would be so proud." I struggled against Greyback's grip, wishing I could strike Bellatrix in the face and wipe that smug look off her face.

"Now, now," she said, backing away slightly. Greyback readjusted his grip, tightening his grasp on my upper arms. My lower arms began to tingle and grow numb. "I expect you'll be seeing your parents soon," she said cryptically. "However, until then, you need to keep quiet," she said rather unnecessarily. It's not as though I could make much noise with a Silencing Charm in effect. But she pulled a little vial of liquid out of her cloak and gave it a light swirl. "This should shut you up for the time being," she said, watching the liquid contents funnel and then even out.

Oh shit, I thought to myself as she approached me with the uncorked vial. I had no idea what was in that. More than likely it was a Sleeping Draught, but with Bellatrix Lestrange, you never know what it could be.

My struggling grew more intense as the bottle neared my mouth. I tried to kick out, but she waved her wand and suddenly I couldn't feel my legs. I tried shaking my head back and forth so she wouldn't be able to catch my mouth, but her hand gripped my chin firmly and painfully, and soon the entire contents of that vial were making its way down my throat.

My body went slack as the effects of the potion were immediate. The last thing I remember seeing was the mangy face and grey hair of Fenrir Greyback as he let go of my body and I fell to the ground, my eyes slipping closed as I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

I came to I can only assume hours later, because when I woke up, I was in a completely different location. The room was dark, the only light coming from the high, narrow, barred window in the back of the room. And even _that_ didn't provide enough light. I could glimpse stars in the sky, and the opening was really only marginally lighter than the rest of the room I was in.

I squinted, my head spinning, as I tried to adjust to the lack of light in the new surroundings. I knew I was on the floor – that much was clear from the cold, hard, gritty surface my hands came into contact with as I tried to stand up. I didn't feel strong enough to be able to support my weight, so I merely sat up, my legs stretched at my side with my hand supporting my weight. As I looked around the room, several things came into focus – first, its size. It couldn't have been more than 30 square yards. The walls were smooth stone concrete, unpainted and undecorated. To my left was the only door in the room – to the right was the only window, much too high and much too small for me to escape through.

Boxes were piled all around the perimeter of the room, strewn haphazardly in various positions. Some were open, others were sealed, some were crushed while most were just beaten. I could vaguely make out an overturned desk in the corner, but I found no chair.

"Hello?" I called out, testing to see if my voice was still Silenced. It wasn't. "Hello!?" I called out, more forcefully. My strength was coming back swiftly, my comprehension and perception shortly after. "Somebody please help me!" My voice sounded strange – abnormally loud in this small, concrete room. It bounced off the walls, reverberating in the silence. I crawled over to the door, my head still throbbing, and pounded on it with my fists. "HELLO!?" I screamed. "Anybody? Please! Help!" My fist pounded relentlessly on the door, thudding significantly. I tried the doorknob, more out of desperation than any expectation, and found, obviously, that it was locked from the outside. As if anyone would keep someone prisoner in a room that locked from the _inside_. Not even the Death Eaters were that dumb, I'm afraid.

My pounding slowed as I began to give up hope that anyone would come to my rescue. I never really understood why people called for help when they were a prisoner anyway. After all, the only people on the outside of that door are the ones keeping you imprisoned – of course they wouldn't help you. But none of that registered in my mind. When I found myself in that locked, dark, cold room, my only instinct was to cry out for help.

But nobody heard me. Or if they did, they didn't care. Because nobody came. I slumped against the door, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks as a wave of loneliness and fear swept over me.

My entire life I'd felt somewhat like a prisoner – someone trapped in this place of solitude because of my blood traitor status and the treason I've committed against the Slytherin House. But I'd never been a _physical_ prisoner before. And let me tell you – it is **so** much worse than a mental prison.

I had no idea what time it was – there were no clocks – or if there were, hidden somewhere among the rubble, I was too tired and distraught to look for it. Eventually the sky outside lightened. The stars disappeared, and blue sky mixed with white clouds was barely visible.

I hadn't slept. How could I? And I'm sure it definitely showed. My face was still feeling tight from the salt leftover from my tears. My hair felt like a tangled mess. My bum was growing numb from its prolonged contact with the hard stone floor.

My mind had grown numb over the course of the night. I had given up trying to think about anything in particular – my thoughts were spinning much too fast in my head for me to actually grasp anything. What was I supposed to think about, anyway? How much danger I was in? How much pain Draco must be in? What would happen to me? How long would I be here? Would I ever see him again? Billions of questions flooded my mind, and they all seemed to want to be answered at the same time. But I couldn't give them any answers. I couldn't do anything.

It took me about an hour after I woke up to realize that I no longer had my wand. It didn't really surprise me, and I didn't react much to it, except to feel even more hopeless and helpless.

As the sun went down and the sky darkened, I found that I could hardly keep my eyes open anymore. I hadn't eaten, and my body was weak. It felt like my stomach was eating itself, and my head hurt so much. I just wanted peace.

But then the door swung open, knocking me off balance and snapping me out of my stupor. I scooted to the opposite side, away from the open door and bright light outside. I squinted as I looked up at a rather chubby, unkempt man with scraggly hair and a rather large double-chin, with watery eyes and a twitchy nose. He was missing a finger.

"Come with me," he said, his voice squeaky and raspy at the same time.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I retorted angrily, surprised at how strong my own voice sounded, despite how weak I actually felt.

The man looked at something just outside the doorframe, and before I knew it, two burly men dressed in black walked swiftly through the door, pointing their wands at me. I was forced to stand, having no control over my own body, and they placed shackles on my wrists, cuffing them in front of me. I glared at them, but couldn't help but realize that they would probably have no problem killing me in an instant. Perhaps it would be best if I just went along with what they wanted. Cooperate and I'll live longer? Far-fetched, but worth a try.

I walked with them, one on other side of me (gripping my arms tightly), down a labyrinth of hallways. The entire place seemed like a completely different area – the walls were so much nicer, decorated expertly and ornately. Sconces were embedded in the walls, supporting antique-looking lamps that cast a bright glow, alighting the hallway.

As we rounded corner after corner and ascended flights of stairs, I assumed I was being led from some sort of storage cellar up to the main floor of the building – it seemed like a house, but I could never be too sure.

As we emerged from the last narrow stairwell, I knew instantly that this was a house – no, it was more like a **mansion**. The kitchen itself seemed like it was better suited for a five-star restaurant; and this wasn't even where the family would eat. A few House Elves scurried about, but we swept past them into the dining hall beyond.

I was met with décor that greatly resembled my own home – it reeked of superiority and privilege. Large, almost life-sized portraits of esteemed generations hung about the walls, glaring at me. They probably hadn't seen something so dirty pass their portraits in their entire existence.

We went through the dining hall, past the ornately polished mahogany wood table and matching chairs, into a large drawing room, with a marble fireplace and a fragile, delicate, expensive-looking chandelier hanging down from the high ceiling.

This room wasn't empty. Bellatrix was standing in the middle of the room, looking positively giddy. Greyback was next to her, hulking over his surprisingly thin, lanky frame. Several other Death Eaters formed a semi-circle, seemingly waiting for me to join them in the middle.

I was thrown into the center, and I stumbled, but didn't lose balance.

"Hope you had a nice sleep," Bellatrix said, her high pitched voice already causing goosebumps to form over my skin. She began to circle me, surveying my appearance.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded.

"Now, now. Show some manners, Astoria," she said. My name sounded horrid coming from her mouth. "You are a guest in this house, after all."

"I'm not going to ask you again," I hissed. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, I can see you won't be sparing any pleasantries," she snapped, growing slightly impatient. It was probably because I was a lot tougher than she thought I would be – she had probably hoped for a pathetic little girl that she could poke fun at. But she wouldn't be getting that satisfaction from me. Though I was afraid for my life – more afraid than you can even imagine – I would not let myself be broken like that. I refused to give them that satisfaction.

"I'm sure you know all about Draco's little – arranged rendezvous with Dumbledore?" she asked rhetorically.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I snapped, hoping I sounded convincing. "Draco Malfoy is an arrogant jerk, and I have nothing to do with him."

"Tut, tut," Bellatrix chastised. A woman standing not far from me, with platinum blonde hair so strikingly like Draco's, hissed and narrowed her eyes. "Tis not nice to lie, Astoria," she drawled. "Especially when we have all the answers."

"If you have all the answers, why bother asking the questions?" I retorted smartly.

"Cheeky," Bellatrix said approvingly. "But you have proved yourself a liability in our plan, you see," she continued, circling me. "So we had to take you out."

"What makes you think I'm such a danger to your precious plan?"

"Why – I thought it was only obvious," she teased. "You have fallen in love with Draco Malfoy."

I tensed up, and my heart began to race. But I didn't deny it.

"See? You can't even lie about it," she teased, pointing her wand in my face and waving it erratically.

"You'll never get away with this," I said instead, my body shaking. My head was starting to hurt again. I just wanted to be back in my cell, away from these people and from this reality. "My family will come looking for me."

"Oh, but they've already arrived!" Bellatrix said triumphantly.

"What?" I asked, in spite of myself. Had they been captured as well? Had my love for Draco really put us in this much danger? My eyes darted to the door, which opened swiftly. And in strode my mother, my father, and Daphne, looking as haughty as ever – mostly due to the fact that they weren't shackled, nor were there any other indications that they were prisoners. "Mum? Dad?" I asked in disbelief.

They stood in line silently. "Mother, why are you just standing there?" I asked desperately, tears forming behind my eyes. What was going on? "Help me out of here!"

"Oh, they won't be helping you, love," Bellatrix teased. "You see, your darling family are the ones that brought you here."

**Chapter Thirty**

Daggers exploded through my heart when I realized Bellatrix wasn't kidding. I looked from haughty face to haughty face – and though they all were fairly expressionless, I could see just a _touch_ of guilt and fear behind their eyes.

But it didn't matter. They were doing nothing to help me. And if Bellatrix really was telling the truth, they were the ones who got me here. Or – more specifically, Daphne did.

"Daphne?" I whispered, unable to recognize her. Had my sister really sold me out? Confessed my relationship to my parents, who in turn confessed it to their fellow Death Eaters? How could she have done this? I had known my sister was cruel – but I had no idea she would stoop to this level.

She said nothing, but I saw something flicker from behind her eyes. She was barely able to look at me.

I struggled to breathe as angry, desperate, fearful tears escaped my eyes. What had happened? My own family had turned against me – had sacrificed my life, for loyalty to the Dark Lord? For what? Prestige? Power? Wealth? Didn't we already have all those things?

Did I really mean **nothing** to them? Was I really that worthless?

I couldn't stand to look at them any more. I would have given anything to just be back in my cell, away from these traitors.

"Your plan will fail," I spat into Bellatrix's positively giddy expression. She took so much delight in my pain.

"I'd have thought you would have a bit more confidence in your beau," she teased.

"I'm confident that he's not a killer," I shot back.

"We'll see about that," she replied.

I was no longer afraid for my life. For the time being, anyway. I knew they wouldn't kill me until Draco's mission was over – until he either failed, or succeeded. After that, I had no idea what would happen to me. But I knew I still had time.

My entire body was shaking from the shock and disappointment, anger and betrayal that I felt after realizing that my family had set me up. The entire room was silent, and everyone was staring at me. I, on the other hand, was staring at a blank spot on the wall, glaring resolutely at it. If I looked anywhere else, I was afraid I would break.

"Bored now," Bellatrix sung. "Take her away," she said, motioning to the two burly guards who had brought me up here. I couldn't help but be thankful.

As I was dragged away, my shackles clinking noisily, I glared at my 'family' as I passed them, trying to let them telepathically know that we were through – and that there was no way I would ever forgive them for this. I saw Daphne's eyes start to water – apparently she hadn't thought that by turning me in, I'd be shackled, imprisoned, and probably killed.

It served her right to feel guilty like this. I wonder what she got out of it. A new wardrobe like mother promised? Probably a new house or something of the sort. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

I was thrown unceremoniously back into my cell several minutes later. The guards removed my shackles [thankfully], and closed the door with a slam, plunging me into darkness. I took a few moments to allow my eyes to adjust to the lack of light before sliding down the door and letting my legs fold underneath me. I was suddenly so tired – how did I get so tired? I let my body collapse, curling up on the floor – I no longer cared that it was so filthy – I just needed to rest. The information I had gathered today swirled in my mind, combining with my panic at the entire situation. What was I _doing_ here?

My head hurt. A lot. Tears leaked out of my eyes from the pain and from my distress. Kidnapped, sedated, betrayed. All in the space of twenty-four hours. I missed Draco. I missed _school_. I even missed the horrid quips and nasty comments I suffered from my classmates. At least those could only hurt me if I let them. But now I was in this dungeon alone, cold, hungry, and exhausted.

So when my eyes drooped closed, I eagerly welcomed the unconscious escape from the terrifying reality my life had become.

I was woken up several hours later by the door abruptly opening. My tired, sleep-heavy eyes squinted at the silhouette in the doorframe, which was there for only a few seconds as he slid a tray filled with food inside my cell. He closed the door with a slam, taking the blinding light with him.

I groaned, my body aching from the painful surface of the floor. But the smell of the food woke me instantly, and I bolted forward, seizing the tray.

The bread was stale and the oatmeal was cold, watery, and rather disgusting. But it was food. And, as a prisoner, I couldn't really expect five course meals being delivered to my room.

I ate speedily, greedily, hungrily. The food was gone within minutes; the large flask of water [which I wasn't sure if it was meant to last me the entire day] was half empty.

And then I spent the next few hours staring at a crack in the wall.

This went on for several days – meals would come twice a day [which was hardly enough], and I'd spend the rest of the hours of the day staring listlessly out the window, or at various other objects in the room. I no longer had a sense of time – I didn't know what day it was, or what time it was. I saw no one, talked to no one, and I slowly felt myself losing my mind.

One day – it had to have been a least a week into my imprisonment – I woke up, and I had a sudden revelation. I realized that nothing would happen, nothing would be accomplished if I wasted away my days doing what I had been doing – waiting for help. I couldn't afford to wait for help any longer. As much as I hoped, there was never a real guarantee. I needed to get myself out myself. And I needed to do something else with my time – something that would help keep my mind away from the degrading, negative thoughts that always crept into my head during a long stretch of silence and solitude.

So as I emerged from my slumber, I stretched my body – and really, actually _stretched_, the way you would stretch before a workout – or a dance session. Then I looked around the room and sighed – it looked like I had a lot of work to do.

My first mission was to go through the contents of each box, and see if I could find anything useful. It was a daunting task – there had to be at least twenty or twenty-five boxes strewn about the room, all with a significant amount of dust and grime accumulated on their surfaces. With no cleaning supplies, I was forced to dig through them despite the clouds of dust that erupted. I struggled not to inhale, but it was quite difficult.

After hours of sorting, I had only managed to get through maybe one-fifth of the total number of boxes in the room. The contents varied – from really rather disgusting bottles and jars filled with rotting potion ingredients, to dead Fanged Frisbees, broken clocks, worn out bowls, a package of cards [which I was afraid to open – who knows if it was cursed]. I wasn't sure how I could use any of these items, and soon I was losing hope that this plan was even going to work.

The sun was fading on the horizon, and soon I would be forced to stop due to a lack of light.

After moving the boxes I had already gone through off to one side of the room, I sat on the cold stone floor and leaned against the slick wall, wiping sweat off my brow and wracking my brain for some idea on how to get out of here – on how I could use _any_ of these items for my escape.

I was staring at the lifeless Fanged Frisbee when I heard a familiar soft chirp that I hadn't heard in the longest time. Shocked, I looked up to the barred window and saw Marva perched on the sill, a small bundle and scroll of parchment tied to her leg.

"Marva!" I exclaimed in an ecstatic whisper, afraid the guards outside would hear. "Oh, Lord, I'm so happy to see you!" The yellow canary fluttered easily through the bars and landed on the floor by my side. I stroked her feathers softly as I hurriedly untied the parcel and scroll, knowing this could only be from one person.

And as I unrolled the small scroll, I recognized the hurried scrawl immediately.

My heart seemed to have stopped as I looked upon his writing. I hadn't even read the letter yet – I was just skimming over the text, savoring this message from Draco. But then Marva chirped, and brought me back to reality.

"Right, sorry," I muttered to her, going back to the top of the letter and actually reading it.

"_A_," it read, "_I pray to God this letter finds you safe. I will never forgive myself if anything happened to you_." Just from that one statement, tears were already forming behind my eyes. I could practically hear Draco, reading it aloud – narrating it for me. "_I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have gotten you into this_," he continued. "_This is all my fault, and I was stupid enough to think that you will be safe when you're with me. Please forgive me, and know that I am agonizing each and every day that we're apart."_

"This isn't your fault, Draco," I whispered to myself.

"_I need to hear from you. I need to know you're okay_," the letter stated. _"I'm doing everything I can to get you back. Trust that. I love you so much. D." _I wished the letter had gone on forever. I had never felt more comfort than when I read those words from him. Then I realized I wasn't breathing. I sucked in a gulp of air as I smiled a watery smile at Marva, then turned to the package that came with her. I opened the parcel and found a quill, ink, and parchment – he probably assumed that if I really was alright, I wouldn't have anything to write with. I smiled at his ingenuity.

Aware that the light was fading rapidly, I quickly dipped the quill in the ink well and scrawled my own reply.

"**D**," I began. **"I'm alright! Well, as alright as one can be in the circumstances. But I am alive, and I'm trying my best to find a way out of here. I don't know where I am – but it looks like a house. A really** **nice one. I'm starting to think it might be yours. I'm locked in the cellar."** Once satisfied that I let him know I was alright, and where I assumed I was, I went on to the more tender part of the letter. **"Draco, none of this is your fault. You have to know that I don't blame in you in the slightest. In fact, it was Daphne who ratted us out – she told my parents, and my parents told Bellatrix and the others.**

"**I miss you more than I can even describe. But please don't do anything stupid because of what happened. Please don't feel responsible. Everyone expects you to complete your assignment – but please, don't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if someone else had to die in order for me to live. We will find a way out of this. I love you with all my heart. –A."**

I scanned the letter, rereading it over and over again as I waited for the ink to dry. Then, with a sigh, I rolled it up and tied it to Marva's thin, fragile leg. "Give him a kiss for me," I whispered tearfully as I walked her over to the window. She flew up, landed on the sill, then looked back at me, as though she were saying goodbye. "Bye," I whispered, waving to her. She stood there for a few seconds longer before turning forward, and flying away.

I heaved a huge sigh, feeling as though somehow when Marva left, she had taken all of my hope and happiness with her. But I still had Draco's letter. Speaking of, I realized I needed to hide it – if any of the guards found out I had been in contact with him – well, I just didn't want them to know.

I had barely finished hiding Draco's letter, parchment, quill, and ink, when the door opened and my night time slop slid its way in.

"What're you doin' there?" the guard asked in his tough, burly, guard voice.

"Tidying up," I said, improvising. "This place is filthy."

The guard seemed unable to believe what I had just said. He stared at me incredulously for a few seconds before laughing maliciously, closing the door before his chuckles subsided.

I exhaled, relieved that I hadn't been caught. Then I made my way over to the smelly tray, and ate my fill for the night.

**Chapter Thirty-One**

I continued to dig through the contents of box after box for the next several days. In addition to my growing pile of useless items, I discovered something that I felt would definitely be my ticket to freedom.

It was the third day of my dungeon-clean-up. I had gone through 75% of the boxes already, and the room was looking significantly tidier than when I had first arrived. I had separated the items in two of the empty boxes – one filled with items I might be able to use somehow [which included broken quills, bottles of potion ingredients, a rusting pot, among other things] and another box for the useless items [the dead Fanged Frisbees, some broken, empty jars, dried ink wells]. As I was rummaging through the drawers of the overturned desk in the corner, I came across an old textbook – an old potions textbook. I couldn't tell the edition, but the copyright on the first page indicated it was published around forty years ago. I had no idea what an old potions textbook was doing in this derelict dungeon – but I couldn't help but regard it as an answer to my prayers. There would definitely be something in here to help me escape.

I was so tempted to abandon the rest of my pillaging and just read through the entire book right then and there – but I had come too far to just stop now. Besides, there might be things hidden away that could be really useful in the days to come.

I was finished with the boxes the next day, and, as I had suspected, had managed to find quite a lot of useful things to stow away in the boxes. The room now looked neater and straighter – less like a dungeon and more like a storage room. The guard outside continued to notice the change in the room, but merely passed it off as my attempt to occupy my time. It never occurred to him that I could be looking for a way out.

For the rest of the day, I read through the ancient textbook. It held potions that I've never heard of before – old ones that have since been disbanded for any sort of reason. They were the most interesting inventions – potions to make you levitate, and others to make you as solid as concrete. And there were several potions for transportation.

They were so complicated – I hadn't seen anything this complex in any of my textbooks, so I assumed if this were meant for Hogwarts, it would be seventh year material. I was afraid to get my hopes up – how was I supposed to pull something like this off? There was no guarantee that I had all of the necessary ingredients or materials. And even if I did, how would I know if the potion I completed would be safe to drink? What if something went terribly wrong, and instead of transporting myself to safety, I killed myself? The risks were dire and plentiful – and they _almost_ outweighed the benefits. Or - benefit, singular. I figured it was worth the risk if it got me out of here – and got me to Draco.

Several potions caught my eye – one for making a body double; one for actually transporting me anywhere in the world. But they all required months of preparation and stewing, so I had no choice but to rule them out, no matter how tempting they seemed.

The only one that seemed remotely likely to work was an astral projection potion – which wasn't much its _own_ potion, as it was a list of steps and instructions mixed with a dose of Invigoration Draught.

I had heard of astral projection – separating my spirit from my body so it could go elsewhere, but I wasn't sure how effective it would be. In all reality, my body would still be here in the dungeon – and I didn't think my spirit would even be corporeal. So how would it help me? Wouldn't it be just the same as me sending a letter to Draco? I couldn't tell him anything else than what I had written in that letter.

But I needed to see him. And I needed him to see me. And that need was enough.

I looked down at the list of materials – for an Invigoration Draught, it was relatively simple, requiring minimal ingredients, and the amount of time an average class at Hogwarts lasted. Finding new hope, I immediately went over to my box of useable items and began rifling through its contents, taking out the necessary equipment.

The rusty old pot would have to do as my cauldron, while a bent, tarnished silver spoon would serve as my stirrer. The potion also called for ground scarab beetle, armadillo bile, and marigold root, as well as a few ounces of water, and a cut up ginger root.

Imagine my disbelief when all of the ingredients were found in an ancient, rotting potion kit I had tossed in a day earlier. Sure, the scarab beetle was withering and brittle, but I supposed that would be better for grinding it? And the armadillo bile seemed to have curdled over time, but I hoped it was still useable. I had to work with what I could get, right? The water I could retrieve from my flask when mealtime came – along with a knife I could use to cut up the roots.

Everything was falling into place, and I was soon anticipating a completed potion by the end of the night.

Until I realized I needed a fire. And I had no idea how to make one without my wand, or any matches handy. Besides, even if I was able to create a fire, what would I burn? How would I contain it? How would I hide the smell? A new wave of problems swept over my once clear set of logistics, creating a new wave of panic in my mind. I hadn't anticipated this. And now it would take me that much longer to get started on the potion.

The light began to fade from the window, and I quickly packed up my research and materials, in case the guard decided to come in and give me my food. I guess my potion would have to wait till morning.

As I waited for my dinner to come, I decided it would be best to smuggle the utensils after tomorrow's first meal, thinking no one would really notice it then. So when it came, I ate like I always did, my mind spinning and my heart racing as I considered what I was about to do.

The hours passed as the sky darkened and night fell. I curled up on my makeshift cot (a bunch of crushed cardboard boxes, but it was better than sleeping on the solid concrete) and began to plan out how I was going to accomplish this task.

I woke up the next morning with a plan having formed unconsciously in my sleeping mind. It really was simple enough – I don't even know why I was fretting so much the previous day. The hard part was actually starting the fire.

I rummaged around the corners of the room, picking up stone after stone, and forming a small circle in the farthest corner of the room. Then I picked out the two biggest rocks and put them aside, with intentions to use them to strike a fire.

I went over to the rubbish box and found some useless pieces of parchment that would be excellent to burn, as well as some old pieces of cloth and that dirty package of cards. I piled them all in the middle of the stone circle, and then set to work on striking the two large stones together, attempting to create a spark.

And it was _so much more difficult_ than I had anticipated. Jeez, the Muggles make it look so easy, but it was so hard! After an hour and a half of striking those two rocks together [and many, many attempts to just abandon the plan altogether] I finally managed to create a tiny spark. It didn't catch, but it was a start.

I lost track of time, and soon I heard the click of the lock in my door.

"Shit!" I whispered, dropping the stones and dragging a box in front of my makeshift firepit seconds before the door swung open.

"What're you doing there?" the guard asked suspiciously.

"Stretching," I said, improvising. I did a demi _plié_ to make my point. "Can't end up looking like you," I added.

The guard growled and threw in my food ferociously, causing some to slip off the tray and onto the floor.

"Whoops," he said, not at all apologetic. He laughed evilly as he closed the door. But I didn't mind. I didn't care. He didn't discover what I was doing. I was safe – for now.

I ate what was left of my lunch, cleaning up the spill [because I couldn't just let that sit there. Who knows how long I would still be in that cell?], and made sure to save some water for my potion. Then I smuggled the knife and hid it in one of the boxes.

"Ate the food off the floor, I see," the guard said when he came back in to collect the tray. "You that pathetically hungry?"

"As a matter of fact, I cleaned it up," I shot back. "Unlike you, I prefer to dwell in a _clean_ environment."

The guard grumbled and slammed the door shut. Immediately, I went back to work.

Another forty-five minutes passed before I was finally able to get a spark to catch on one of the old, crumpled pieces of parchment. The fire spread quickly, and I quickly gathered more materials for it to burn, in fear that it might go out before I was finished.

Once it was crackling merrily, I placed the old pot over it, resting it atop the stones that formed the fire's barrier. I added in the water, having to estimate the amount, as I didn't have a measuring cup.

The estimations I was required to make made me nervous – what if each ingredient had to be specifically that amount? What if something went wrong? But I continued, adding the bile and the cut up roots, stirring it clockwise, counterclockwise, and in figure eights, as instructed. Finally I poured in the ground beetle, and the potion bubbled frighteningly. Then suddenly, the bubbles were gone, and the potion had turned the exact shade of sapphire blue described in the book.

I exhaled sharply, unable to believe that I had actually done it. I stirred through it a few times to make sure it was actually real – and then I carefully poured it into one of the cleaner, unbroken bottles. I put out the fire quickly before it could spread or smell any more. And then I waited.

I needed to wait until after my nighttime meal – I couldn't afford to be unconscious when the guard came in.

Finally, the light outside began to dim, and I knew it couldn't be long. About half an hour later, the door opened and my food slid in. I ate quickly, waiting patiently for the guard to come back in and take the tray back. And when the door closed and I heard the key in the lock, I grabbed the textbook I had hidden, and flipped to the page with the instructions.

With the dark blue potion resting beside me, I read over the instructions, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I realized what I was about to attempt. But it was now, or never. And I had to do it.

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

[Author's Note: This chapter contains quotes from HBP, Chapter Twenty Four [pages 521-523 in the American Hardcover Edition]. They will be indicated by asterisks. These quotes are property of JK Rowling. I do not claim them as my own, but felt it would be best to give a word-for-word account of the event, in order to run more smoothly and more parallel with the actual events in HBP. Thanks for your understanding. No copyright infringement is intended.]

The instructions called for me to drink the potion first, so my mind would be stimulated, and the magic within me would be riled up enough for me to perform this unconventional act. Hesitantly, I took a sip of the potion – it had a fizzy kind of feeling as it went down my throat, and instantly I felt energized and – well, _invigorated_. I felt like I could run for miles and never get tired. I looked back down at the book and saw that it required me to lay down and close my eyes – a difficult feat, with my restlessness. But I had to do what the instructions said.

So, with increased difficulty, I settled down on top of my cardboard box cot and closed my eyes, concentrating on Draco, and Hogwarts, and my entire desire to be with him.

It took several minutes, mostly due to the fact that I kept peeking my eyes open to check the instructions. And I kept fidgeting. But finally I controlled myself enough to make me settle down and really concentrate. My breathing slowed, though my heart rate sped up as I began to think of Draco and how much I loved him, and how much I missed him.

But I didn't feel like it was working. I felt no different, and I knew time was passing. With a sigh, I sat up to check the book once more, intending to flip back a page or two to make sure I had done everything right. Until my hand went right through the book.

Shocked, I looked at my hand – and realized it had a faint transparency in its lack of corporeality. I looked down and saw my solid body still lying on the ground, seemingly asleep.

"Woah," I said – but I didn't hear myself say anything. Well, actually, I did hear myself say something – but my voice came from my sleeping body.

"Oh, shit," I said, then felt rather creeped out when I saw my unconscious mouth move and form the words. Apparently I had done something wrong. I highly doubted the unconscious body should be the vessel for speech. Maybe that armadillo bile really was too rancid to really work.

Panicked, I wasn't sure if I should continue to go through with this. What if the guard heard me talking to Draco [if I ever managed to find my way out, at least]? Would he come barging in and realize that I wasn't merely talking to myself?

But I had come too far – everything else seemed to have worked perfectly. I had separated my spirit from my body, and my body still looking normal, completely unharmed. I just needed to see Draco. Maybe I could just play charades? Mouth the words? It was worth a shot. Like I said, I had come too far to back out now.

I glanced down at the book and saw that I merely had to think of the place I wanted to go, and my spirit would somehow automatically wind up there. Unsure of whether that method would actually work, I gave it a shot, concentrating my entire being [transparent and otherwise] on Draco, squeezing my eyes shut in the process.

When I hesitantly opened my eyes, I wasn't staring at the same stretch of blank wall that I had stared at for the past – well, for the duration of my imprisonment, anyway, for I had no idea what day it was. No, I was standing [well, _floating_ in a boys lavatory – in Hogwarts].

"It worked!" I said, in spite of myself, but no sound came out, and I knew that my body on the other end had uttered those words. _Crap_, I thought to myself, mentally making a note to try and avoid saying anything else out loud.

As I looked around and wondered why my thoughts had led me to this boys lavatory [if Draco was using the loo, I really didn't want to see that], I heard a light sob.

Remembering my vow of silence, I frowned, turning around and gliding my way over to where I had heard the noise. And there he was – slumped over one of the sinks, his hair disheveled, his tie loosened, his vest lying on the floor. Tears were streaming from his eyes, down his pale cheeks, and into the basin in front of him.

"Draco?" I said, in spite of myself. What was causing him so much pain? More than anything I wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to let him know that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't hear me. And he didn't see me.

Moaning Myrtle was floating next to him, essentially taking my place, crooning words of comfort. She looked like she desperately wanted to hold him – almost as desperate as I felt myself. But I couldn't help but be a little jealous – Draco knew she was there. Draco could hear her and see her. But he wasn't looking up – his eyes were shut tight as his sobs consumed his body, and he didn't know I was there. I tried waving my arms to get Myrtle's attention, but to no avail. She was too preoccupied with Draco to notice anything else.

*"Don't," she said, her normally shrill voice sounding oddly sensitive and quiet. "Don't . . . tell me what's wrong. . . I can help you. . ." she offered. But I knew it was pointless. Myrtle really couldn't help him.

*No one can help me," Draco managed to choke out. I hadn't heard his voice in such a long time – and when I finally did hear it, it was distraught and filled with fear, guilt, and grief. He still wasn't looking up. "I can't do it. . . . I can't. . . . It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon . . . he says he'll kill me. . . . He says he'll kill her," he added, his voice cracking. I realized he meant me.

"Draco, I'm here!" I shouted pointlessly. I cringed, knowing my words were loud and just might be heard. But I couldn't stop myself – I needed him to see that I was alright. "I'm alright! Please, Draco, just look up!"

He took a shuddering breath, gasped, gulped a little, and finally looked up – only to stare at himself in the mirror – and to see someone else intruding upon this sensitive moment.

Harry Potter was standing in the doorway of the lavatory, peeking through and witnessing everything. "Oh, shit," I said to myself, knowing this couldn't end well. And it didn't. Draco whipped out his wand, throwing a hex at Harry, who fired back at once.

"Stop it!" I yelled alongside Myrtle's own pleas for the fighting to stop. "Draco, stop! Please! Can't you see me?!" I don't know why I kept screaming – it was just about being caught in the moment. I flinched as chunks of cubicle soared through the air and went right through me; ducked when one of the missed hexes made a sink explode, sending water everywhere. "STOP IT!" I continued to scream, seemingly shouting over the sound of the rushing water. It didn't seem like my voice was absent anymore – it just seemed like the sound of everything else was drowning it out.

Of course, my voice really was still there – in my physical body, still locked away at what I had assumed to be the Malfoy Manor. In the back of my mind, I knew it was still there. And some part of me knew that my voice really was being heard – it was just being heard by all the wrong people.

Jinx after jinx, hex after hex flew through the air – it was a good thing I wasn't corporeal, or else I probably would have been hit with something. All the while, Draco still didn't notice I was there – he was too absorbed in avoiding Harry's curses, while throwing some of his own.

And then Draco began to utter an Unforgivable Curse. "Draco, don't!" I yelled, but I was interrupted by Harry, who screamed a spell I had never heard of before.

"_Sectumsempra_!" he yelled, and before I knew it, blood sprayed from Draco's body [going right through me] as though he had been slashed multiple times.

"OH MY GOD!" I screamed as Draco staggered to the floor, his red blood mixing with the clear water, creating swirling shapes in the flowing liquid. "Oh, God, Draco!" I said, and I felt myself beginning to cry. I knelt by his body, examining the wounds – they looked so deep, and there was so much blood.

*"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" Myrtle began to scream, gliding out the door.

If my tears were physical, they would be pouring down my face, mixing with the water from the broken sink, and Draco's flowing blood. He began to shudder and shake, his body convulsing. His wand had fallen from his hand, and was lying peacefully a few inches away from his pale hand. His eyes were open, and finally, at long last, they locked with mine.

Harry had knelt down by Draco's body as well, and looked up at me, seeing me for the first time. Shock mingled with the guilt and horror on his face as he tried to decipher who I was and why I was there. I didn't even try and talk to him.

I turned my attention back to Draco, whose eyes had found a sort of peace. I felt invisible tears sliding down my face, sobs wracking my body, and I knew it was all happening physically in my cell. I tried to put my hand over Draco's, but I knew it would just go straight through, so I merely hovered over it.

"You're going to be okay," I said, and I hoped he could read my lips. "I love you."

His breathing was staggered, broken. Each gasp sent more of his blood pouring out from his deep wounds. I was sobbing uncontrollably – I hadn't expected anything like this to happen. I don't know what I was expecting – but this definitely wasn't it. I didn't make this potion and perform this unique bit of magic to watch the love of my life die.

Draco took shuddering breath after shuddering breath. He tried to say something, but I shook my head, indicating for him not to talk. He took one last gulp of air – and then he fell limp, his breath escaping his body like a rapidly deflating balloon, his eyes sliding closed.

"NO!" I screamed. "DRACO! DRACO, you have to get up! GET UP!" I continued to scream silently.

The door to the lavatory banged open, and Professor Snape stood there, taking in the scene. His eyes scanned the room, landed on me for a brief moment, surprise flickering behind his hooded eyes, before he swept over to Draco and began performing an incantation that seemed to be healing Draco.

But suddenly the scene began to fade away. Everything got darker, and the sound began to muffle. "NO! Not yet!" I screamed, realizing that I was somehow being sent back."I need to know he's okay!" I yelled to whatever invisible force there was that might magically grant me permission to stay. But it was pointless, because the next thing I knew, I was back in the cell I had become so familiar with, apparently having been shaken awake by the guards outside my door.

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

As I reconnected with my physical body, I felt everything that my non-corporeal self didn't. My chest ached and my lungs wheezed from my sobs. My cheeks were glistening wet; my collar was soaked from the tears I had already cried. My stomach hurt from my crying, and my throat hurt from the screaming.

"What the hell are you on about?" one of the guards asked angrily.

"It's Draco! He's been hurt! I need to talk to Narcissa, right now!" I managed to choke out. The guards looked skeptical. "PLEASE! You have to believe me! Draco could die!"

"Fine. But if you're lying, we won't be sorry to see you go," one of the guards said, lifting me roughly from the floor. I practically ran up the stairs to the large gathering hall that I had been ridiculed in earlier. Or – I ran as fast as I could with the big hulking guard gripping me as tight as he could.

"What is the meaning of this?" Narcissa said, wheeling around from her sister, whom she was apparently talking to.

"Draco's in danger!" I blurted out immediately, struggling to free my arm from the guard's grip so I could rush to her faster. He ended up throwing me to the ground. I slid to her feet, but I didn't care. "Please, I'm not lying!" I pleaded. "He was in Hogwarts, in the lavatory, and then Harry Potter came in and they started dueling, and then Draco was hit with a curse, and there was blood everywhere," I rambled, no longer able to see her face due to the tears blurring my vision. I thought I could see a slight shift – an expression of disgust turning into one of fear and concern. "God, there was so much blood," I repeated, collapsing.

The room was silent for a few seconds, and then I heard Narcissa sweep over to a nearby portrait. "Go see if it's true," she instructed the wizened wizard urgently. Then she walked back over to me. "How do you know this?" she hissed.

I couldn't answer her. How could I? How could I just confess that I had been working on an escape for days? Luckily (or unluckily, I should say), one of the guards answered for me.

"I think I can answer that," he said gruffly. I peeked up and saw that he was holding up the old potions textbook. I was doomed.

"Give me that," Bellatrix snapped, snatching the book from his hands. "Astral projection," she read. "Well, aren't you a clever girl," she said nastily. "It's a shame those rancid potion ingredients didn't poison you."

The wizard in the portrait returned, and Narcissa swept over to it urgently. "Well?" she asked impatiently.

"Mr. Malfoy is safe in the hospital wing at the school. Severus had cast a spell to mend his wounds. Poppy was administering dittany to the boy," he reported officially.

Narcissa turned away from the portrait, seemingly unable to believe that what I had said was the truth. I could tell she was torn between being grateful, and being angry.

My sobs slowed as I realized that Draco was going to be okay. I began to breathe normally, and my tears slowed to a trickle. I felt like I was going to collapse. The astral projection had taken a toll on my body and mind – a much bigger toll than I expected, and I was ignoring the throbbing of my head for Draco and Narcissa's sake. But now that I knew he was going to be alright, the exhaustion and fatigue began to set in.

I pushed my hair out of my face as I breathed heavily, hiccoughing occasionally. My sniffles brought Narcissa's attention back to me, and she surveyed me without expression for several long minutes.

And then she did the unexpected.

"Get this girl to the bath," she instructed, never taking her eyes off me. I looked up in confusion, just as Bellatrix swept down to attack.

"Cissy, what are you doing?" the dark-haired sibling hissed. "Don't do anything," she ordered the guards, who hadn't moved from their disbelief.

"You are guests in _my_ house, and you will do what _I_ say," Narcissa said to the guards. "Now direct her to the bath. God knows she needs one," she said scathingly. I wasn't sure whether or not I myself should have been grateful, or offended. Her statement was, for all intents and purposes, quite true. But still.

The guards pulled me roughly to my feet and led me out the double doors that my former family had walked through. I wondered where they were, what they were doing, what they were thinking. Whatever it was, I couldn't help but hope they were miserable.

I staggered my way through the elegant halls, wishing I could have been here, experiencing this first tour of the Malfoy Manor, for a very different reason, with very different company. Everything here was so pristine and elegant; I felt like I was definitely tainting the aura simply by being here. I couldn't remember the last time I had bathed [disgusting, I know. But it's not like they'd really extend that luxury to a prisoner. Until now, anyway.] But was I still a prisoner? Narcissa had insisted I be brought to the bath – was it out of gratefulness? Or was I simply just too smelly for her to bear it anymore?

I was practically pushed into the windowless bathroom. "Try anything, and we'll have your head," a guard growled before he slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside, which I found slightly off, since most bathroom locks were inside.

But I had no intention of trying to escape. I was much too curious about Narcissa's sudden change of heart to try anything; much too grateful for her defense to do anything that might betray whatever small portion of sympathy she had for me. As far as I knew, Draco was going to live. Everything else I could worry about later.

Seeing the delicate porcelain bathtub, I immediately filled it with water, looking around the room to become more familiar with it. I found the bath salts and bath bombs, the towels. And somehow, hanging on a hook on the door, was a new set of robes, which definitely was not there when I walked in. I recognized them as my own – one of the sets I had packed for my 'Easter Holiday.' I couldn't believe they were actually willing to give me a new set of clothes. Then again, it would be slightly pointless for me to bathe, only to wear the same filthy clothes I had been wearing before.

As the bath filled, I tossed in a few scented bath bombs. Might as well take advantage of the luxury as long as I had it, right? It's not like the guards would punish me for smelling nice. …Right?

I turned off the water when the level was adequate, and then stripped and stepped in. The water was so cool and refreshing against my skin, and I sighed appreciatively as I sank in the water and lay down comfortably in the tub, my arms slung over the edges.

I closed my eyes and began to relax, the throbbing in my head easing and the muscles in my body relaxing. Until I heard a very familiar voice, as close as though it were right in front of me.

"…is completely ludicrous," Bellatrix was saying. My eyes shot open and I sat up in the tub, covering myself up. My head whipped around to the door, but it was still shut tight. Confused, I looked around the room and saw an old-fashioned vent right next to the tub. It must connect to where ever she was. And from what it sounded like, she was right next to it.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Bella," came Narcissa's voice, apparently right next to the vent as well. "You don't have children."

Ouch, I couldn't help but think. That was harsh. But apparently Bellatrix had already heard that one before, because it didn't sound like she was even offended.

"If I did, I'd gladly give him over to the Dark Lord. Draco should be proud! You should be proud!"

"He's just a boy," Narcissa said softly.

"Why did you let that girl in the bath? She did nothing but try to escape," Bellatrix said, changing the subject.

"She saved Draco," Narcissa mentioned plainly.

"**SHE** didn't do anything but scream and blubber. As much as I hate to admit it, Severus saved Draco. She had nothing to do with it."

"This girl cares more about Draco's safety than her own," Narcissa mentioned thoughtfully. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"How dare you?!" Bellatrix said indignantly.

"All I know is that instead of trying to escape, she merely tried to get in touch with my son. All I know is that instead of running out of her cell to safety when the guards let her out, she ran straight to me and notified me of what happened. She cares for Draco. She loves him. She wants him safe. **You** want him to receive glory for a task he might not even live to complete!" Narcissa said. My eyes watered by how she was defending me.

It's always a nervous moment when you meet your significant other's parents. You want to make a good impression on them, right? Let them know that you truly care for their son or daughter, and that you are a suitable partner for them.

Well, my first impression with Narcissa was definitely not presentable. It wasn't ideal; it wasn't traditional. And though I should loathe her for keeping me captive, something told me it wasn't her idea to kidnap his son's girlfriend.

The trauma from having Lucius in Azkaban probably made her a bit more sensitive to love and devotion than she normally would be. But I could tell that Narcissa wasn't as devoted and loyal to the Dark Lord as everyone might think she was.

"So what's going to happen now?" Bellatrix asked, sounding livid. "Are you going to treat her as a _guest_ here? Give her a nice room, a comfortable bed; let her eat at our table?"

"Of course not," Narcissa replied, and my heart sank. Perhaps she wasn't as sensitive as I thought she was. "But we can't keep her in those conditions. It's not use trying to argue, Bella. I've already made up my mind," she stated, cutting her sister off before she could even start.

But what did she mean, that I couldn't be kept in those conditions? Was my cell being 'upgraded' or something? My heart was racing, but it was clear that the conversation was over, and the two sisters had moved away from the vent. I was left to mull over their words for the next twenty minutes, until one of the guards banged on the door.

"Oi! What are you doing in there?!" he yelled.

"Just a minute!" I called back, finishing up my bath quickly. Once dried and dressed, I called out that I was ready, and the guard opened the door from the outside.

"What took you so long?" he growled gruffly.

"You have no idea how a woman bathes," I said aloofly, walking past him out the door, but stopping in the middle of the hallway, proving to him that I wasn't going anywhere.

The guard growled and closed the door. "Madame Malfoy has requested you move to a new cell," he said with sarcastic formality. "Follow me to your new suite."

I glared at him, but couldn't help but feel slightly excited. I figured anything would be better than that hell that was my previous dungeon. Then again – it was kind of growing on me. And I knew where everything was. But I couldn't complain. Narcissa was showing me grace; she was giving me the benefit of the doubt, and trusting that maybe I was actually a good thing for Draco. Maybe I really was worthy. And in circumstances like this, it really was more than I could ask for.

I was led down the familiar passage to my old cell, so it was still in the basement, and still technically considered a prisoner cell. But instead of going down four flights of stairs, I went down two, and then followed the guard down a long, narrow, blank hallway. Torches flamed from sconces in the walls, casting a dim glow. I passed by closed door after closed door before hitting the end of the corridor, where the guard unlocked the last door of the corridor. I stepped inside, and – well, the room wasn't spectacular. It actually did look quite like a prison cell. In the Muggle world, at least. The walls were bare and white, and the room was roughly the same size as my previous one, without all of the clutter, junk, and dirt. But there was one major difference – resting in the far corner of the room sat a cot. An actual cot, with an actual mattress, blanket, and pillow. There was no window, but there was a light switch, and a large light in the middle of the ceiling.

Compared to my old cell, this definitely was an upgrade. At least I had a bed, anyway.

I walked over to it and sat down, testing its comfortability, as the guard closed the room and I heard the familiar click of the lock in the door.

And though I appreciated the new addition to the room, I couldn't help but miss my old cell. I know, I'm kind of crazy for missing an old, dirty cell. But at least in that room, I had objects to keep me busy – I had things to do, and things to experiment with. This room was completely empty, aside from the bed. And having nothing to do generally leads to you laying down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking. A lot. For a very long time.

And I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to think. I needed to keep myself busy, keep myself from thinking the terrifying thoughts of what if, what could have happened. What if Professor Snape hadn't arrived at the lavatory in time? What if the spell he cast didn't work? What if Harry's spell had been something more dangerous; something that could have killed Draco? So many 'what if' questions continued to swirl around my head, preventing me from really enjoying the fact that Draco was apparently going to be alright.

I couldn't help but be resentful at the fact that his life was threatened in the first place. I'd always held Harry Potter in rather high regard – he's had to put up with quite a lot of shit in his life, and I knew Draco didn't really help matters in the boy's troubled life. But I didn't think Harry would be capable of using a spell of that caliber.

Then again, it didn't seem like Harry knew what it did either – he was as shocked and surprised as I was, and seemed just as afraid for his rival's life as I was for my boyfriend's.

I sighed and buried my face in my pillow. It smelled of polyester and cotton. My head was starting to hurt. I needed to stop these thoughts from flooding my mind.

In an effort to drown them out, I got up from the bed and walked around the perimeter of the room. A pointless act, but at least it gave me something to do.

I circled the room over and over again, speeding up my pace. Soon my circles became smaller, until I was in the center of the room, and suddenly I was on one foot, completing pirouette after pirouette in an effort to continue moving – kind of like I was trying to out twirl my thoughts.

Eventually, though, I fell out of my pirouette, and I headed over to the bed and settled down on it, out of breath, my head spinning slightly from my erratic spins. And it became clear to me what I was going to do with my days and nights in this cell.

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Day after day passed, and soon it became as routine as my time spent in my previous cell. Meals came twice a day, of no better quality. But every time that door opened, I questioned the guard about Draco. "Is he okay?" I would ask as soon as the door swung open. "Have you heard anything new? Is he out of the hospital wing yet?" I bombarded the guards with questions, who seemed flustered for the first few days. Soon, though, they became used to my routine, and merely kept their mouths shut. I took that as a confirmation that they knew nothing new, because I didn't want to know what I would do if they were really withholding information from me. And for all I knew, they could have been. Maybe they just wanted to torture me by not giving me the information I wanted. Maybe they were just cruel that way. I would never know.

As the days passed and my boredom increased, I took to observing things about the room and everything I could glimpse outside form the brief moments the door swung open and closed. For instance, there was a hairline fracture in the wall about 45 centimeters to the right of the glowing lamp; the lamp dimmed occasionally when it was on for over three hours. There was a miniscule hole in the bedsheets, but I tried to avoid examining my bed too much, for fear of finding anything remotely disgusting.

There was a faint outline of a rectangle against the far wall, its inside lighter than the surrounding floor around it, indicating that something had once occupied that space for quite a long period of time.

And when the door was opened, I observed various things about the opposite side of the hall. For instance, the flames of one of the torches in the nearest sconce continually licked at the wall, but the wall never caught fire. I assumed it was some sort of everlasting, harmless fire, more for light and show purposes than warmth or anything else. I noticed things about my guards, too. Like how the one who gave me my meals was about 12 centimeters shorter than the silent one whose strength was quite superior to Mr. Meals. They continually wore black trousers and black shirts – more often than once, I wondered if they ever even changed clothes, showered, or even ate.

Both of them had muscles, though the taller one was much more toned and defined than the other. They both kept their wands face down in their front pockets.

But I also noticed that Mr. Muscle had an extra wand tucked into his back pocket – face up. Why would he have more than one wand? And why would he keep it in his back pocket, facing up, unlike his primary wand, which he always kept face down in his front pocket for ease of access? I had only received glimpses of the long stick of wood, but soon I began to focus on that object every time the door opened and closed.

It took several days, but I finally realized that extra wand was _mine_. My jaw dropped open as the door closed the day I realized it. I couldn't believe they were keeping my wand in such close proximity to me – didn't they realize it would be only too easy for me to acquire it? Well, alright, perhaps it wasn't that simple. But I knew with a bit of practice, I would be able to get the hand of a wandless, silent Summoning Charm. It's not like I had anything else to do.

But even if I _was_ able to get my wand back, where would that get me? It wasn't as though I would be able to fight off the two guards and run away from the Malfoy Manor. Where would I go? What would I do? I had no idea where I was in the country; and it was quite possible there could be other obstacles in the way. Things weren't as simple as getting out and running away.

Besides, Narcissa had shown me mercy and grace; she'd given me this improved room, had defended me and allowed me to bathe. I didn't want her to think that I wasn't grateful for all of that.

But I practiced nevertheless, figuring it would be useful to have a Summoning Charm ready, whether I needed it or not. My days were soon filled with a cyclic routine – I'd wake up, stretch, do a couple of laps around the room, and then dance. Obviously I had no music, but I danced to what I heard in my head, to what I was feeling at that day. A random mix of pirouettes and arabesques, of jumps and leaps, of physical activity to take my mind off of my current situation. I'd dance until the door opened for my afternoon meal, then after I was finished eating and the door was safely shut, I would practice my silent, wandless spells. I wasn't sure which spells would work without a wand – but I tried all the basic kinds. The Shield Charm and the Levitation Charm, the Locomotor Charm, and the Disarming Spell, all in addition to the Summoning Charm. And after a countless number of days, I was seriously considering giving up on the project altogether, because I was wielding absolutely no results. I had no idea if I was even doing the spells correctly – I hadn't been taught how to perform wandless spells yet, and I hadn't read anything about them. I just figured it was a common sense kind of thing – but obviously there had to be something else. I was trying everything I could think of – focusing my entire being on imagining the spell working, focusing my concentration on my desire to get it to work. I didn't know why it wasn't working.

It was so frustrating. I really was trying, and I had no idea how to find out what it was that I was doing wrong. I had no way of knowing. So how could I find out what to change? What to do?

I went to sleep one night, frustrated and exhausted, my head spinning from my exertion. I had probably spent three weeks in that new cell – much longer than I had spent in my previous one – though it felt like years. I was frustrated nearly to tears with the lack of progress I had been making in my efforts to accomplish wandless, silent spells. I knew I probably should have been taking baby steps – start out by saying the incantations out loud first. But I couldn't afford to let the guards catch on to my efforts. I had no idea if this room was soundproof – but I didn't want to test that theory out. I had already been caught secretly performing magic in an effort to escape, and I was lucky that I wasn't punished severely that first time. I didn't want to risk being caught a second time.

I huffed and shifted positions, laying on my side and staring at the wall in front of me, not even struggling against the heaviness of my eyelids. It wasn't long before I fell into a dreamless sleep.

Every night before I went to bed, I made it a habit to put my shoes on the other side of the room. An odd habit, but I do have my reasons. Every morning, as I swam out of unconsciousness and regained awareness of the life I had come to adjust to, I looked across the room and saw my shoes – and from my bed, I tried to Summon them into my hand.

Of course, it never gave any real results. For weeks, I've merely had to get up and walk across the room to put my trainers on.

But the next morning was different. Everything about that day would be different – and it would change not only my life, but the lives of every single witch or wizard in the world.

I woke up one morning in what I could only assume was the month of June – I don't know how I knew, I just had an inkling - that feeling that summer was on its way. Though, admittedly, this feeling was definitely different than any normal student would be experiencing at this time. It wasn't as though I was going to be released as soon as the end of June arrived, like the students at Hogwarts. Things were different for me.

I stretched, cat-like, in bed, letting feeling swim back into my limbs as I slowly opened my eyes to my bleary, sleep-filled vision. I rubbed them for a few seconds, hopelessness mingled with motivation washing over me as I realized where I was, and what was happening to me.

I sighed, and glanced across the room at my trainers, resting normally where I placed them the previous night. Without really expecting much, I tried to summon the shoes, as I had done every morning at the start of each day.

Only this time, it worked.

My shoes zoomed from their place on the floor up to my bed, hooking themselves into my waiting, yet surprised, hands.

"Oh, my God! It worked!" I exclaimed in surprise, finding a new, bright light to my seemingly pointless day. I tossed the blankets off my body and put on my shoes quickly, bouncing happily as I stretched, jogged, and began my usual routine.

I continued to practice my spells throughout the day, summoning my pillow, and even trying to levitate it, along with every other object in the room I deemed possible to summon or levitate. But then the door opened earlier than I was used to, and instead of a tray of food, the guard came in empty handed.

"Come with me," he said, positively gleeful for some odd reason. I looked at him, confused, but obliged, following him out the door and up the stairs to the main floor. The second guard stood close beside me, and occasionally I looked down and was able to get a peek at my wand, still sticking out of his pocket. I was so tempted to grab it – but I was also curious as to what was going on, and where I was being led.

Without another word, I was pushed into the same bathroom I had bathed in before. "Get yourself nice and pretty," the guard leered. "Tonight's a special night. With a - _very_ special guest," he said, emphasizing the word. My heart raced as I absorbed this new information. Who could it possibly be? And why was I even invited? Was it Draco? Would I be able to see him?

But before any of these questions could escape my mouth, the guard slammed the door shut – revealing the beautifully elegant dress hanging on the hook on my side of the door.

I couldn't tell you how gorgeous it was. The emerald green sheen, the silk and velvet and satin, the perfect length and cut and size. Whoever this guest was – must be pretty important, if they require even the prisoners to dress up.

Or maybe it was just for me.

I was nervous – so nervous. My hands were shaking as I turned the knob for the bath, filling the porcelain tub with water. I tossed in a few more bath bombs and salts, filling the room with a rich scent.

Once I was finished, I put on a soft cotton robe and began to style myself – my hair and my makeup, looking at myself in the mirror for the first time in weeks.

I looked horrible, to say the very least. I had gotten thinner, and my skin had become waxy and pale from the lack of sunlight and outside exposure. Even with my makeup and hair done, I still didn't look like I once had.

And then I slipped on the dress [with shoes to match], admiring the way my ballerina necklace stood out beautifully, and knocked on the door, letting the guards know I was ready.

They opened the door and surveyed me approvingly. Apparently they've never seen a prisoner looking like this. The nasty perverts held their gaze at my chest a little bit too long, which caused me to walk on to my cell ahead of them.

"Who's coming tonight?" I asked, in spite of myself and my desire to keep silent.

The guards shared a loaded look and smirked. "You'll see," one of them merely replied. I frowned, frustrated at their mums-the-word tactic. We arrived at my door and the guard unlocked it, tossing me in unceremoniously.

"I suggest you prepare what you're going to say," the guard sneered. "The Dark Lord, after all, does not tolerate cheekiness." He and the other guard laughed as my heart and stomach dropped and my breathing increased.

"The Dark Lord?" I asked, but the door swung shut and the lock clicked into place. "WAIT! What do you mean?!" I cried, rushing to the door and pounding on it.

I began to hyperventilate. Was the Dark Lord really coming tonight? And even if he was, what did he want with me? Why did I have to be dressed this way?

I had to get out. I had to escape. If I came face to face with the Dark Lord, there was no knowing whether or not I would live to see another day.

"Oh shit," I said to myself, pacing the room frantically as I desperately tried to think of a way to escape. My heels clicked against the tile floor annoyingly, and soon I became so frustrated that I chucked them at the wall. Tears of fear and desperation sprang to my eyes. I couldn't find a way out; I couldn't think of any way to escape. Was this how my life would end?

I sat on my bed and buried my head in my hands, contemplating my fate. Then the door swung open and the guards sauntered in.

"NO!" I screamed, backing away from them to the other side of the room. But they persisted, and grabbed me forcefully. I struggled against them, thrashing my arms and kicking out with my feet. When I had a hand free, I summoned my wand from Mr. Muscle's back pocket, and it flew right into my hand.

"_Protego_!" I screamed, casting a Shield Charm. I cast a few other charms to push the guards back, but they ran straight at me, and when the Shield Charm lowered, they grabbed me roughly, and Mr. Muscle threw me over his shoulder. I struggled against him, pushing, punching, hitting, and kicking, but all to no avail. I screamed for help, but I knew it was pointless. Who would help me?

The other guard Disarmed me, and my wand flew helplessly away from me once more. I had failed. And I was on my way up to the main floor, despite my best efforts to get away.

"Feisty one, ain't she?" Mr. Muscle said conversationally to his partner.

"You did put up quite a fight," Mr. Meals responded, poking me with my own wand. I lashed out, trying to grab him, but he ducked away safely, laughing at my attempt.

As I saw the double doors of the gathering hall approaching, I doubled my efforts to escape Mr. Muscle's grip. I felt myself slip slightly, but he only tightened his grip, squeezing me uncomfortably, so much so that I could barely breathe. Mr. Meals pushed the door open to reveal the room in darkness – the heavy curtains had been pulled to cover the windows and the grand chandelier in the center of the room was not lighted. The only source of light came from the fireplace on the far right of the room.

And standing there, gazing at the fire, was a hooded, shrouded figure that I could only assume was Lord Voldemort himself.

I whimpered and struggled even more, but it really was pointless. Mr. Muscle walked right up to the Dark Lord and threw me down on the ground at his feet. I tried to crawl away, but was immobilized by my own wand long enough for the guards to shackle me.

Tears were running down my face by then, merely from the sheer terror I felt at being in the Dark Lord's presence. It was so ominous – so overpowering and dense that it seemed to be _creating_ the darkness in the room.

Mr. Muscle then forced me up into a standing position, and dug his wand painfully into my back. We waited in painful silence for the Dark Lord's next move.

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

"So this is who threatened to foil all of my plans this year," Voldemort hissed, his voice high and snake-like. "A silly little girl."

I was hyperventilating, whimpering slightly. The evil wizard turned slowly from the fire, illuminating a small portion of his face at a time.

I nearly gagged. He was even more frightening that I had ever imagined he would be. His eyes were narrow red slits, his nostrils mere vertical incisions where his nose should be. His skin was pale, the closest thing to white I've ever seen on a person's skin. He pushed his hood back slowly, revealing a shiny, bald head, which only added to his snake-like appearance.

I was shivering, shaking, nearly convulsing, from my fear. "How is it that you could be such a distraction to young Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, looking me over curiously.

"You're never going to get away with this," I lashed out instead, eliciting a harsh tug at my hair and a sharp jab of the wand in my back.

"You think so?" he said softly. "We shall see. We shall see…"

Then he swept away from the fireplace and to the center of the room. The guards pushed me, indicating that I should follow. It was then I noticed I didn't have my shoes on.

My feet shuffled on the cold tile floor, a loud noise compared to Voldemort's noiseless gliding. I struggled against my captors, my shackles clinking in front of me.

"You're a coward," I spat at his back as he walked around a spot in the center of the room, waving his wand around and chanting a spell or two. He stopped and turned to look at me in surprise. "Getting a mere boy to do your dirty work. What, too afraid to face Dumbledore yourself? You're afraid you'll fail, so you'd rather a boy take the fall than you." I knew I was acting stupidly. I knew in Voldemort's presence he commanded nothing by respect. But I couldn't respect him when Draco's life was threatened. I couldn't respect him when he was the sole reason for my parent's cruelty – for the insane and unprovoked, ridiculous cruelty happening around the world. I hated this monster. And though I feared for my life, I wasn't going to go down without letting him know that he was exactly that – a monster.

Voldemort waved away the guards holding me still, who seemed like they wanted to hex me to oblivion. He walked up to me and stared at me curiously, and I glared furiously back. And then he lifted his wand, and said, "_Crucio!_" and I fell to the ground as a bright, intense, horrific pain exploded throughout my body. It was _excruciating_. I couldn't tell you what it felt like – it didn't feel anything like being stabbed thousands of times, or being burned alive, or any of those painful sensations. It was just pain – the most intense pain I have ever felt in my life, invading every inch of my body and making me beg for mercy; beg for escape. Only my mouth couldn't form the words. It was locked open as scream after scream escaped me, embodying the very release I wished to have. I just wanted to die – I wanted it all to end so I wouldn't have to suffer this agony any longer.

My body convulsed on the floor, curling into a fetal position in an unconscious effort to block out the curse. My head felt like it was going to explode, but somehow I was still able to hear the muffled, faint voice of Voldemort. "Haven't your parents ever taught you to respect your superiors?" he said coldly. And finally, mercifully, he lifted the curse.

The pain stopped immediately, but my entire body still ached, and my head throbbed. Oxygen rushed into my lungs as I gasped breath after breath, trying to calm my trembling body.

And then I was forced to stand, pulled up roughly by one of the guards, and he stabbed my back with a wand once more. I swayed, my legs still unstable, but he kept me steady, holding my arm tightly.

Okay, so opening my mouth was an incredibly stupid move. I was lucky he didn't kill me. But maybe he had other plans for me.

As I was being pulled back up, Voldemort had resumed his pacing and wand waving, until eventually a picture began to form in the empty space. It was as though he were painting a canvas, and on that canvas appeared a painting. But the picture was moving – and I realized it wasn't a picture at all, but some kind of video.

I watched as the giant 'movie screen' formed and was clarified, the image sharpened, and it seemed as though it weren't a screen at all, but merely a portal to a different location. But I knew it wasn't. Somehow, Voldemort had set up some kind of video feed [as Muggles would call it], following Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, and several other Death Eaters as they walked swiftly down what I recognized as Knockturn Alley. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach plunged as I watched them pass the same spot where Draco and I had really first spoken, nearly a year ago.

I didn't understand why I was watching this – it seemed pointless, mundane, and boring. But as I glanced around, I realized the room was empty except for me, Voldemort, and the guards. I had no idea where the other inhabitants of the house were, but I knew if I was out of my cell, Bellatrix should have been nearby, taunting me and ridiculing me.

It was impossible to tell, but I had an inkling that what I was watching wasn't a mere memory or past event. What I was watching was happening right now.

But why would Voldemort show me his followers on a mission?

And instantly, it hit me. As soon as the word 'mission' formed in my mind, I realized this could only mean Draco's plan was finished – and his aunt and her 'friends' were on their way to help him.

Which meant Professor Dumbledore was going to die tonight.

Of course, I didn't want to believe that would actually happen. I didn't actually think Draco would go through with his mission. I knew he wouldn't kill Dumbledore.

But it still meant that the wise old wizard was in grave danger. And if Bellatrix and her 'friends' were on their way to Hogwarts [was that what Draco was working on in the Room of Requirement?] it meant that this was serious – and that something was going to happen, whether I wanted it to or not.

I watched as the set of characters stepped into Bourgin and Burkes, heading straight for a large wardrobe at the back of the store. Confused, I waited for something to happen – surely they didn't travel all the way there simply to get a few old robes? But no – when they opened the door, the wardrobe was completely empty. Bellatrix stepped inside and closed the door – thirty seconds later, Fenrir opened it, and Bellatrix was gone.

It was a Vanishing Cabinet. Of course. Why hadn't I thought of it before? This must have been what Draco was working on in the Room of Requirement; there must have been a sister there. And this was how they were getting into the school.

It pained me to know that Draco was the one who had brought known murderers into our beloved school. It killed me, knowing that all of this was Draco's doing. But I kept telling myself that he didn't have a choice – that his life was on the line, and he had to do it.

But it only made me feel marginally better.

It felt like I was watching one of those Muggle movies – watching a plot play out on screen, with me having no power over what happens, and me not knowing what will happen next. But I was on the edge of my seat in fearful anticipation.

The screen went black as our set of eyes and ears Vanished himself through the cabinet. Our vision was regained not a minute later, and he stepped out of the Cabinet into a room cluttered with what could only be centuries worth of lost, stolen, forbidden, banned, and broken items. It seemed as though as long as Hogwarts had a history, so did this room.

The items stacked themselves into towering walls, creating a labyrinthine maze that we picked our way through to get to the door. I felt a stab at my heart when I saw Draco, several paces ahead, leading everyone out. He was dressed nicely – in a black suit that accentuated his thin physique as well as his stiff demeanor – or, the stiff demeanor that he publicized with everyone but me.

I could only glimpse his face for a brief second before he whipped out of sight, apparently wanting to reach Dumbledore before everyone else. But his face was contorted into a mask that I barely recognized – there was terror and fear, guilt and horror, etched into the features I had come to know so well. I felt tears spring to my eyes as my chest constricted. I can't tell you how much I just wanted to reach through that screen and take him into my arms. It had been so long since I had seen his face; even longer since I had touched that skin or felt those lips. It was like one of those deeply intense feelings of yearning and desire, when you want something so badly that it physically hurts you. Coupled with that horrible feeling of desperation and hopelessness, with that realization that the love of your life is going to do something atrocious and unforgiving and heartbreaking. But you can't stop yourself from loving him anyway.

My shackled hands clutched my chest as I struggled to hold in my sobs. The chains clanked noisily, drawing Voldemort's attention to me.

"Afraid for the old man's life?" he asked, mistaking my tears for Dumbledore's sake instead of Draco's. "Albus Dumbledore will soon be vanquished, and there is nothing you can do about it," he said menacingly.

"You put so much confidence in the workings of one seventeen year old boy," I spat through my tears, thinking it best not to reveal my love for Draco. He could use it as another weapon against me – against us. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest sorcerer in the world. Draco and your minions don't stand a chance."

"Then why are these tears streaming from your eyes?" he questioned, sweeping towards me and examining my face. I cringed and looked away, gooseflesh erupting all over my body at his uncomfortably close position. I didn't answer him, because what was I supposed to say? He had caught me – he knew I was visibly upset. But I couldn't tell him why. I just couldn't.

Somehow the focal point zoomed forward and instead of following Bellatrix and Fenrir, I was met with a screen full of Draco. It was as though the 'camera' in the 'movie' had zoomed ahead and caught up with him. His eyes revealed the uncertainty that I knew he felt as he headed up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. Apparently [I don't know how he knew] Dumbledore was there.

His fancy dress shoes clicked against the empty tile floor, and that was all I could hear except for his labored breathing. If I put my hand to his heart, I knew it would be beating a million miles an hour.

The 'camera' winded up with Draco until he finally arrived at the landing. The view panned and revealed Dumbledore slumped against a parapet – against one of the very parapets that I was leaning on, that fateful Christmas Day when my life changed and love entered my heart. He looked weak; injured or poisoned somehow. Draco whipped his wand out and pointed it at our Headmaster, and my stomach twisted into knots as I took in the scene.

[Author's Note: This scene and those in the following chapter illustrate a crucial moment in the book. I didn't want to quote HBP verbatim, so I mixed a little bit of the information from the book, as well as some things that happened in the movie. We all know what _really_ happened [and if you don't remember, it's in chapter 27 of HBP, titled "The Lightning-Struck Tower"] but this is how events would have unfolded, had Astoria really been factored into the equation.]

All was silent for a while before Draco stepped forward into the light, revealing himself. "_Expelliarmus!"_ he said hurriedly, blasting Dumbledore's wand out of his limp hand.

And that was the scene. A boy – 17 years old, and the love of my life, had the advantage over a wizened, wise old headmaster, 150 or so years in age. Was Draco going to do it? He had the chance; he had the opportunity.

But as I watched him intensely, praying to God that he wouldn't do anything, I noticed his arm was shaking. Quite visibly. He was afraid. And that was the first clue I received that told me he really wasn't going to do this.

"Good evening, Draco," Dumbledore said pleasantly, always keeping up his manners, even in a dire, life-threatening situation like this.

Draco's eyes swept the tower, catching sight of two brooms hovering in midair. Someone else was here, and Draco knew that. So he asked exactly that.

But Dumbledore brushed off the question, countering it with his own. Draco then revealed that Death Eaters were in his school that night. Then again, a Death Eater has always resided at this school since Draco came back.

There was a shout from downstairs – apparently Bellatrix and her 'friends' had hit a snag. Aurors tended to patrol the school at night – I hoped it was one of them, and not a student.

Draco looked nervously down the stairs, then whipped his head back to Dumbledore, tightening his grip on his wand.

"You are not a killer, Draco," Dumbledore said into the silence.

"You don't know me," he shot back with a sneer. "You don't know what I've done!"

"Oh, but I do," Dumbledore said serenely. "Giving Katie Bell that cursed necklace, with hopes that it might actually reach me. Poisoning a bottle of mead – a bottle that was not very likely to reach my office in the first place. Forgive me Draco, but it doesn't seem as though your heart as really been in it." Wrong thing to say.

"It has been!" Draco shot back. "I've been working on a much bigger thing that you can imagine. And finally it's worked, and your school is infiltrated."

"So tell me, Draco. How did you do it?" Dumbledore asked, keeping up the conversation.

"The Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement," he said proudly, that sneer still fixed on his face. "I've been mending it. It has a sister, at Bourgin and Burkes."

"Admirable," Dumbledore said weakly. "Though admittedly, it does look unfortunate for me."

Another shout from downstairs – it sounded closer this time. Bellatrix was on her way. Again, Draco's head snapped from stairwell to Dumbledore.

"I take it you have a job to do?" Dumbledore prodded. "By all means, get on and do it, my dear boy." It wasn't a challenge, nor was it meant for ridicule – Dumbledore was simply inviting Draco to complete his mission – he was giving Draco a chance to prove that he could do it.

But he couldn't. And everyone knew that.

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

"He's not going to do it," I said boldly, my eyes darting from the screen to Voldemort.

He merely ignored my outburst, however, when Dumbledore began to speak once more.

"I see. You're too afraid to act unless the others are with you," Dumbledore surveyed.

"I am not!" Draco declared, quite unconvincingly. His eyes darted around the room, his wand shaking violently. "I was chosen for this!" and then he grabbed the sleeve of his left arm and pulled it up, revealing the horrid tattoo that I still hadn't gotten used to. I nearly gagged at the sight of it.

"Don't you see?" Draco exclaimed desperately, his whole body trembling. "I have to do this. I have to kill you… Or he's going to kill _her_." My heart stopped, my tears overflowing from my eyes and streaming down my cheeks, at Draco's mention of me. I hated the fact that he was defending his actions by trying to save my life – now I felt responsible for Dumbledore's safety. But – damn, I was so in love with Draco at that moment.

Voldemort turned back to me, shifting his gaze between me and Draco on the screen. His face was blank, but I saw a flicker of disgust pass over his serpentine features.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, comprehension dawning over his serene, though wincing, features. "If all else fails, Draco, please continue to love Ms. Greengrass as fiercely as you love her now," he advised. "Contrary to what your master believes, love truly is the most powerful, most meaningful form of magic." I couldn't believe that even facing imminent death, Dumbledore was still adamant about loving and caring every human being.

Voldemort scoffed, sweeping away, his robes billowing around him. "Love," he said scathingly. "A pathetic emotion. Useless." He swept down on me and looked at me curiously. "He loves you," he stated unnecessarily. I glared in response. "And you love him. How sweet," he said, but I knew he didn't mean it. "I suppose it'll cause even more pain for him to watch you die," Voldemort stated. I exhaled in shock and fear, but I didn't cry out. I didn't beg for mercy. I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

I didn't think that I would have much time left. I felt like I really was going to die soon, at the hands of Lord Voldemort. A life flashed before my eyes – not my past, but a future – everything I could have had. A life with Draco. Draco as my fiancée, then as my husband. A child, maybe more. A long and happy life – and then it was gone, fading away into oblivion as the gathering hall came back into focus – and with it, Draco's fearful expression on the giant screen in front of me.

"He's not going to do it," I declared again, more confidently. Draco had his chance – he had the perfect opportunity. But killing isn't as simple as the evil make it out to be. I knew Draco was not evil. And a part of me was hoping that my voice was floating around in his mind's ear, telling him that.

His grimace of pain and fear deepened as his wand arm trembled, and then lowered a fraction of an inch. _That's it, _I encouraged him silently._ You can do this, Draco. Just lower your wand and everything will be okay._

But of course, how could I be so optimistic in a situation like this? Just when things seemed to be looking up, everything fell apart.

The stairwell clanked and clanged as Bellatrix, Fenrir, and a few other Death Eaters appeared.

"Well done, Draco," Bellatrix said approvingly as she surveyed the scene.

"Good evening, Bellatrix," Dumbledore said weakly.

"Evening, Albus," she replied in that high-pitched voice as she cocked her head to one side, observing his frail state. "How are you tonight?" she asked rhetorically – tauntingly.

"I must admit I have been in better spirits," Dumbledore answered.

"Enough talk! Kill the old man already!" Fenrir wheezed, poking Draco roughly. Draco stumbled and tried to keep his wand arm steady, but it was still shaking violently.

"What are you waiting for, Draco?" Bellatrix shot, watching him. "Do it!"

Draco's eyes darted from his aunt to Dumbledore; from Fenrir to Dumbledore; and then from his aunt to Fenrir. The other two Death Eaters stood behind, watching eagerly – so eagerly, it looked as though they were going to drool from anticipation.

"Do it now, Draco!" Bellatrix hissed. Draco looked ready to cry. His eyes were rimmed red, his face was contorted into a mask of disgust and horror and fear and intimidation. His entire body was shaking. But he couldn't do it.

My breathing eased as I realized that Draco was in the clear. That, despite his position, he wasn't going to kill Dumbledore. That Dumbledore was safe. And then Professor Snape swept into the scene, and relief flooded through my body. Snape was there. And, regardless of the rumors flying around, Snape was a staff member; he worked for Dumbledore. He was going to save the day.

I looked triumphantly from Voldemort to the screen, but Voldemort's expression did not change. His face didn't reveal shock or indignation or anger at a foiled plan.

Confused, I proceeded to watch the events unfold. Draco lowered his wand and backed out of the way. Dumbledore and Snape surveyed each other for a few several, interminable, silent seconds.

"Severus," Dumbledore said weakly. "Please." I wondered why Snape wasn't helping him; why he was just standing there – and why the other Death Eaters weren't attacking him. My breathing sped up as my eyes darted between the two adults, and I realized that something was not right in this equation. No, something was very, very wrong.

And then those two most dangerous, most potent words in the Wizarding world escaped Snape's lips. "_Avada Kedavra_," and a flash of green light.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed as I watched Dumbledore's body blasted into the air. It seemed to hover above the parapet for a few seconds, before beginning its long, slow descent from the highest tower in the castle.

I fell to my knees, uncontrollable sobs consuming my body. I buried my face in my hands, blocking out the screen. I didn't want to see any more. But not before I was able to see Draco's expression – it was one of shock and guilt and responsibility and pain. He was horrified. And then he was swept away with the rest of the Death Eaters, forced to flee the castle.

I didn't watch any more, but I could hear over my sobs the sounds of a battle waging inside the castle walls. Unable to help myself, I looked up at the screen, my vision blurred from my tears, and watched as flashes of light took over the screen. Draco and the rest continued to walk straight through the battle that was going on around them. I recognized a few people – Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. There were other students, and other members of staff, fighting off black-robed Death Eaters. But the 'camera' continued to stay with Draco and everyone else as they speedily made their quick escape.

I couldn't watch anymore. There was nothing else to see. Again, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, unable to believe that the great Albus Dumbledore was dead.

Apparently Voldemort found the rest of the footage uninteresting, because he swept away from it.

"Make sure they arrive here safely," he hissed to an unseen guard. "I'm not quite finished with them yet." I looked up at him angrily, and stood up quickly.

"No!" I cried, to his surprise. "You got what you wanted!" I screamed, pointing at the screen. "Dumbledore is dead! So just let him go!" I sobbed, struggling to keep my voice straight through my tears. By 'him,' I meant Draco. He'd completed his mission; he was successful in getting the Death Eaters in thus far. And though he wasn't the one to kill Dumbledore, the wizard still died in the end. Why did it matter who killed him?

Voldemort surveyed me for a few blank seconds. "Get her out of my sight," he hissed, sweeping away from me. The guards grabbed me roughly and led me away, back into the cellar and eventually back into my cell. I didn't resist. My tears flowed steadily out of my eyes, splashing onto the gorgeous dress on my body, essentially ruining the delicate fabric. But I didn't care.

So when I was thrown unceremoniously into my cell, I welcomed the solitude and the silence. The door closed and was locked behind me, and I threw myself on my bed, losing myself in my sobs and distress, my grief and sorrow and worry and fear.

Everything was hitting me all at once. Dumbledore's death. Draco's safety. The fact that I was tortured and very close to being killed. How had my life turned into this? It had once been boring and solitary; lonely and quiet and uneventful and unimportant. Now, over the course of one single year, I'd fallen in love, I'd been kidnapped, I'd been tortured and my life had been threatened. My family betrayed me, handing me over to these villains, and at the same time I was suffering through my worry and pain from my separation from Draco, and dealing with the grief from the loss of the most adored wizard of all time.

I think it's safe to say my life would never be the same again. And, with the recent loss of Dumbledore, neither would anyone else's.

The distraught, hopeless slump I had lost myself in had given way to a fitful, unrestful sleep. And when I woke up, I didn't bother going through my normal routine. I merely opened my eyes – only to realize that despite my unconscious state, tears had still been streaming from my eyes. Reality hit me full force, and I continued to cry, staring at the wall, feeling the tears soaking my pillow. Dumbledore was dead. I didn't know where Draco was. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I kept repeating all of these negative thoughts in my head, which only added fuel to my fire.

I was still dressed in the elegant gown I had worn the night before. I didn't really have anything else to wear. Not that I would have changed, had I had clothes available. I was too tired to care.

My door opened, but I didn't look up. I didn't want to face those leering guards. So I waited for the sound of my food tray sliding in. But it never came. The door closed.

Curiously, I looked to see what had changed; what the purpose was of opening and closing the door.

And there he was.

"Oh, my God," I exclaimed, more tears pouring from my eyes as I jumped out of bed and ran over to him, throwing my arms around the body that I missed so much. I was consumed with more sobs – but this time they were sobs of happiness and relief. He squeezed me tightly, and my tears continued to drip off my face, soaking his shoulder.

"I – I didn't – he just – S-Snape," he said softly.

"Shhh," I said, pulling my face away from his shoulder and placing my hands on either side of his. "I saw everything. I'm so proud of you, Draco. I knew you wouldn't," I whispered. My eyes ran over his pained features – the vulnerability and guilt and fear in his icy blue-gray eyes, the disheveled, unkempt hair on top of his head, the thin line of his lips, which were formed into a guilty frown.

And I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned in for a kiss that both of us needed – a kiss that I hadn't felt in what felt like forever. A kiss, as I've often said before, that was long overdue.

We lost ourselves in the moment, enjoying the feeling of our reunion and the fact that we were together once more. Suddenly everything around us seemed so trivial; everything fell away and the entire world consisted of us two in this one solitary room.

We snogged fiercely, making up for lost time, coupled with the desperation that we felt, the emotions that had consumed us during our separation. We were lost in the fear we had both felt at the possibility of never seeing each other again; at the seriousness of our situations; at the severity of our actions.

I wanted it to last the rest of our lives. I wished we could just stay in this little bubble, completely shut out from reality and society and the battle between good and evil, and have it just be us two, together, for the remainder of time.

But of course, it could never be that way. We were going to have to face reality sooner or later. So eventually our kisses slowed as we had to come up for air, and we pressed our foreheads together, enjoying our sweet embrace.

He held me for several more minutes as I rested my chin on his shoulder, and we were completely silent as we absorbed our time together. It was too amazing a moment to ruin it with dialogue. And though I had so many questions to ask him, I knew they could wait. We had all the time in the world.

I thought.

"Come on," I whispered, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. I stopped short when I realized how small it was. "Hm," I said thoughtfully, trying to find a way to make it work. But Draco merely took out his wand, muttered "_Engorgio_," and the bed grew to twice its original size.

"Oh. That solves things," I said, feeling marginally better now that Draco was with me. His presence solved nearly half of my problems. Then again, I still had those nagging questions at the back of my mind – the reminders that Dumbledore was dead, that my fate was still uncertain, as was Draco's, that I couldn't be certain of anything.

I crawled into bed with Draco close behind, and we snuggled together, much like Valentine's Day in the Room of Requirement. I rested my ear on his chest, listening to his gentle heartbeat as I gently rose and fell with each breath he took.

And though the questions continued to circle my mind, and I had every opportunity to ask them, I didn't want to. I didn't want to ruin this time by asking probing questions – questions that would be difficult and painful to answer. Whatever I wanted to know, it could wait.

"I love you," Draco said into the silence, stroking my hair lightly. "I hope you know that."

"I do," I replied. "And I love you. More than you know." Draco kissed the top of my head, and I smiled and closed my eyes, thinking to myself that I could spend the rest of my life in these arms, and I'd never be lonely again.

Exhaustion and fatigue took over me, and I fell into a deep, dreamless, but pleasant sleep.

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

I don't know what time it was when I woke up. I stirred, yawned, and stretched, but discovered a body where my pillow should have been. I looked up into Draco's face, and my face lit up in a smile. So it _hadn't_ been a dream.

"Did you sleep at all?" I asked, squinting through my sleep-ridden eyes into his tired looking gaze. He shook his head, a sad expression on his face. I was awake instantly.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting up and facing him, my eyes boring into his vulnerable blues. He looked away from me, his lips trembling. I felt more tears [they never seemed to run out] form behind my eyes as I stared at him, worry and fear running through my body. "Draco, you're scaring me."

He sighed and got up from the bed, reaching out his hand for me to take it. I took it and stood up in front of him. He stroked our hands, before looking into my eyes. There were tears in his.

"This is where we say goodbye, Astoria," he whispered. It seemed to take all of him to say that.

I exhaled, the breath leaving me rapidly, like a deflating balloon. Where was this coming from?

"I – I don't understand," I said, my throat clogging.

"Your family is going home today. You're going with them," he clarified. "Astoria, I nearly got you killed. You can't stay with me," he added when I shook my head feverishly.

"My '_family_' is what brought me here in the first place," I told him. I blinked, and two tears found their way out of my eyes and down my cheeks. "I won't be happy unless I'm with you."

"I'm too dangerous," he said softly, his face contorted into a mask of pain. He looked up and away, trying to suppress his own tears, but failing miserably. "You have to go, Astoria. If something happened to you because of me, I don't know what I would do. At least, if you're away from me, I know you're no where near _them_." By them, I knew he meant Bellatrix, Fenrir, and Voldemort himself.

Tears were now flowing freely from both of our eyes. I realized there was no way out of this – it was different at Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirement, when he first told me his secret. I had been able to convince him then; only because nothing had happened to me. But now, something did happen. He won't allow me to persuade him any other way.

I took a shuddering breath and looked up, trying to ease the flow of my tears. "Okay, well – it's – it's only for the summer, right? I'll see you at school…" but my voice trailed off when I saw him look away from me, and his face grimaced as a new sob threatened to consume him.

"I don't know if I'm going back to school, Astoria," he managed to choke out, but his voice was thick with tears. I covered my mouth to muffle the sob that was so close to escaping. I sniffled, running my hand through my hair, sucking it up, trying to be strong for him.

"So what does this mean?" I whispered, my voice small and meek as I looked hesitantly into his eyes. The tears that clouded them made my heart ache even more.

"I don't know," he whispered back.

We were silent for a few seconds, unable to look at each other. I tried so hard to suppress my sobs, but it was just so hard. This was it. I didn't know when I was going to see Draco again – I didn't know if I would _ever_ see him again. Just these last few weeks were complete and absolute torture – but now I would have to endure an entire summer – and maybe a whole school year? Maybe even years on top of that? I felt like I would rather die.

"Astoria," Draco began, his voice steadier than I expected. I turned to face him, and he put a hand on either side of my face, wiping my tears away. It seemed kind of pointless – the tears he wiped away were only replaced with more. But the gesture was sweet nevertheless. His eyes were red from the tears he shed himself, but his face seemed steeled and firm. "You – you changed my life," he began, but I cut him off.

"Don't," I said abruptly, shaking my head slightly, causing Draco to remove his hands from my face. "Don't say your goodbyes. Not yet." I hooked my arms around his neck. "This isn't goodbye," I said firmly, though I could tell he wasn't really fooled. My tears continued to stream down my face relentlessly, and I could barely think. "We're going to see each other again," I told him confidently. "We will. When this is all over, I'll be waiting for you." My voice cracked slightly. I cleared my throat, steeled myself, and continued. "As long as it takes. If you come looking for me, I'll be waiting. This – this doesn't end here. We have a long, happy life to get to in the future. Believe that."

Draco stared into my eyes for several long seconds before sweeping me into a long, loving kiss – a kiss that would have to last for a long, long time. I wished I could bottle this feeling – wished I could somehow capture the feel of his lips on mine; the scent of his skin and the touch of his hands, so that if I ever felt lonely, I just needed to uncork those bottled senses.

But it wasn't possible. And realizing that made me all the more distraught.

I broke the kiss, unable to contain myself any longer. Draco held me as I sobbed openly on his shoulder, and I know I felt a few tears of his own land on my own shoulder.

I couldn't let myself go, though. I couldn't _really_ cry as much as I needed to. Because I knew that I would be crying for days, weeks, maybe even months after this.

Several minutes passed, and I forced myself to ease up; I forced myself to calm down. This was already hard enough on Draco –- I didn't want him to see how much this was really hurting me. If this was what he wanted – if this was going to help give him peace of mind, then I would oblige. Even if it killed me.

We kissed one last time, knowing it would be the last time we would be able to kiss like this in private. We savored the feeling, savored the sensation and the love that emanated from our bodies.

And then it was over.

We walked hand in hand to the door, which was left unlocked, and were met with the two guards. Mr. Muscle handed me my wand begrudgingly, surveying my hand-holding with what looked like jealousy. Or it could have been queasiness. And then they let us walk up to the main floor of the house – and out the magnificent grand doors, leading out to a beautiful front garden. I could see a set of massive gates in the distance, which outlined the boundaries of his estate.

A Muggle-looking car was sitting in the curved driveway, waiting for my family and me, so they could take us to the nearest train station, and head home.

I had no idea how I was supposed to endure a car ride _and_ a train ride with my former family. The car ride especially. Luckily, it was a stretch limo – I would be able to hide out at the far end, in the dark, at the very least.

The weather was amazing – a bright blue sky with minimal clouds and a light, cool breeze. It was as though it were taunting me, rubbing in my face the fact that I was completely miserable, and would probably not be enjoying a nice summer's day for a very long time.

We stopped just by the limo. I figured my 'family' was already in there.

I slowly turned to Draco, again trying to hold back my tears. It was so much harder when I was looking into his face.

"I love you," I said softly.

"I love you," he replied. We hugged. I nuzzled my face in the nape of his neck, kissing it once. And then we kissed a final time – but it was short, as we were ever aware that both his mother and my parents were watching.

Then I left his loving embrace, squeezing his hand one last time, before climbing into the limo. My eyes never left his, even when the guard closed the door and the tinted window was between us.

He looked away, trying to be strong and hide his tears, but I wasn't fooled. Inside the dark limo, I let mine fall freely and silently, not even giving my 'family' a second glance.

And then the limo's engine started up, and the car moved. It wasn't long before we were past those wrought iron gates, and Draco was out of sight.

I let out one tiny sob, leaning my head against the window and staring listlessly out at the moving scenery beyond. It wasn't fair that I was held captive for so many weeks – that we were separated from each other for such a long time, and were only allowed one night together. One magical night of solace and peace, only to have it ripped away from us. Only to be forced to part once more.

It was like in that Muggle play I had read once - "Romeo and Juliet". Forbidden love. Except it wasn't our families that were fighting each other; it was ourselves. Mainly, it was me. Because if I had been a dedicated Death Eater like everyone wanted me to be, if I wholeheartedly supported Voldemort in his endeavors, then Draco and I wouldn't be having this problem – this issue of my safety, and how the Death Eaters would gladly use me against him. If I was on their side, it wouldn't be a problem.

So I couldn't help but feel like this whole, entire thing was completely my fault. And that killed me.

The car ride and train ride blurred into one. The only thing I could really process was that both were taking me farther and farther away from Draco. I stared out the windows of both vehicles, uttering not a single word, and never glancing at my 'family' once. I could see them in my peripheral vision – staring at me, wondering if I was going to say anything or acknowledge them in any way. But I wasn't. They were dead to me, as far as I was concerned. And I really didn't care.

So maybe Draco and I would have had to separate eventually – maybe his connections to the Dark Lord would prove too dangerous for me, even if I hadn't been kidnapped and held prisoner. But the fact was, that I _was_ kidnapped, and I _was_ held prisoner – all thanks to my dear old, loving family. I didn't blame them for my break up with Draco – but I couldn't deny the fact that I wouldn't have been in this mess – I wouldn't have been tortured and starved and kept locked up, if it weren't for them.

So when we finally arrived at our house [thanks to a hired chauffer who drove us right to our doorstep] I was out of the car before anyone else. And I ran up to my room, ignoring everything else in the house. I avoided feeling nostalgic; avoided feeling anything, as I passed by family portraits and heirlooms and pieces of furniture and décor that held a lifetime of memories. I went straight up to my room, took out the largest suitcase I owned, and began to pack my things.

I just needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry." Daphne's voice rang from my doorway. I cast her one glance over my shoulder, probably a millisecond long, before resuming my packing.

"What do you want, Daphne?" I asked when she didn't leave my doorway.

"I didn't know things were going to happen that way," she began. Her voice was the smallest I had ever heard her speak.

"Yeah, well, they did," I mumbled, rushing around my room, stuffing what little clothes I had left into my suitcase.

"You can't just leave," she pleaded desperately.

"I can, and I am," I said, suddenly getting a flashback back to Hogwarts, when Draco and I had said the exact same words one fateful Friday night. I paused, a wave of nostalgia and grief washing over me, before taking a deep breath, and continuing.

"Mother and father are sorry, too," Daphne said softly.

I snorted. "I'll believe _that_ when they tell me themselves," I said vehemently.

"So you're just going to leave? Where will you go?"

I stopped, turning around and giving her my full attention for the first time. "I don't know. I suppose I'll stay with Charlotte until school starts up again. After that I'll be of age, and I'll find a place of my own." Charlotte was one of my Muggle friends – my closest one from dance class. She didn't know my secret – but I was strongly considering telling her about it. I didn't know what I would do; I wasn't sure if it was safe, or if it was wise to tell her what I am. But it would make things so much easier. It was one of those things I would have to think about.

But mainly, I needed to go back to school. Not particularly because I _wanted_ to – but because I felt like I needed to. I didn't even know when Dumbledore's funeral would be.

"I really am sorry," Daphne said quietly.

I sighed. "I know. And I appreciate your apology. But I just – I don't think there's any way I can forgive you for this." It sounded cruel, and harsh. But it was honest. How was I supposed to forgive her? For everything that happened? Everything she's done? Maybe it was possible – but it would take a long time.

"Look," I added, when I saw her look away and sniffle slightly. Even though I had done my share of crying – much more than she had, I'm sure – I still didn't take joy in seeing her distress. "What you did – it's different. You didn't know what was going to happen. But Mum and Dad – they knew exactly what they were getting into. They knew what was going to happen, more or less. So maybe I'll be able to forgive you someday. But Mum and Dad – it's just not likely. It's not like they'll be unhappy; they've been looking for reasons to disown me my entire life." I said lightly, though the statement had heavy implications. The truth rang strongly in the air.

"I still don't want you to go," she whispered. I was shocked. She'd never really cared to acknowledge our sisterhood until now; she often shunned me during class and avoided me in the summer. Why _now_, of all times, did she decide to show some affection? It was as though a disaster had to happen in order for her to feel something.

"I just have to get out of here, Daph," I said, turning back to my suitcase. "I can't do this anymore."

She said nothing, but continued to watch as I packed my entire life into a single suitcase – or, what was left of my life, anyway. There wasn't much – most of my possessions were still at Hogwarts. I only needed what would be absolutely necessary – I figured I could sweep everything else into boxes and come back for them once I found a place of my own. I hoped my parents wouldn't throw them out or anything – there were quite a few things I did want to keep. A few dance trophies from competitions I'd attended [and they didn't]; a few Muggle books that my friends had lent me; among other pointless trinkets and cute decorations that I didn't need, but still wanted to keep.

Once satisfied that I had everything essential, I zipped up my bag and walked swiftly past Daphne, who was still standing in the doorway, down the stairs, and out the door. Daphne was quick on my heels.

"I'll see you at school," I said consolingly as I stepped out of our gate and took one long look at my old house. I sighed. "Goodbye, Daphne," I said, before turning and setting off, away from the life I had once known, and toward something completely new.

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

I wasn't quite ready to head to Charlotte's place. Besides, I still needed to get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. So I headed down the familiar roads to Charing Cross Road, passing my beloved dance studio. I saw my friends, busy with a new piece, but I avoided staring too long – I didn't want them to see me like this. I headed over to the Leaky Cauldron, thinking I could book a room, Floo over to Hogsmeade, and get into Hogwarts that way.

The pub was rather empty, but it wasn't quite evening yet, so I could understand why. I went straight up to the wizened, toothless barman, Tom, and asked for a room, to which he gave me a rusty old key in exchange for two Galleons a night.

I didn't know how many nights I'd be staying – but I gave him eight Galleons, figuring my stay at Hogwarts wouldn't be very long. Once I came back from the funeral, I'd leave and be on my way to Charlotte's.

I clambered up the narrow staircase and down the dusty halls, looking for my designated room. When I finally found it, I entered quietly, closing the door behind me slowly. The reality of the situation was starting to hit me in slow, powerful waves. Over the course of the past twelve hours, Draco and I had broken up, unsure of whether or not we will ever see each other again. I had packed up my things and left my home – a home I had known for nearly seventeen years; and now I was forced to merge myself with the real world – to make decisions on my own and be completely and utterly responsible for my own actions.

In all actuality, it was no different than what my life had been like before. I had always made my own decisions, and most of the time it felt as though I was away from home, as though the place I lived in, where my 'family' resided, was a temporary residence. But it never really occurred to me that it could all be stripped away – that all sense of familiarity and routine could be turned upside down. It felt different, this new sense of independence. But it also felt incredibly lonely.

There's just something about leaving your family for good that really makes you think. And though this decision was voluntary on my part, I was driven to it through years of mutual dislike and bad vibes. At one point in every child's life, they must say goodbye to their parents – but usually that's with tearful goodbyes and promises to write every week. Usually it's with the acceptance that this has to happen sooner or later.

But my leaving was filled with bitterness, anger, and animosity. Essentially, I had disowned my own family. And though I had always held a grudge against them and their practices, I'd never really thought about cutting them out of my life forever.

And as if that emptiness wasn't enough, I was filled with even more emptiness by the fact that Draco and I couldn't be together anymore. By the fact that the one source of happiness in my life has been stripped from me, and I had no way of getting it back until all of this was over.

I sank onto the firm, moth-ball-scented bed and leaned my head against one of the towering bedposts, staring listlessly out of the window, which gave me a rather nice view of Diagon Alley below. I knew I needed to head over to Hogwarts – the sun was setting on the western horizon, and I knew it would probably be dark by the time I got to the castle. But I couldn't bring myself to get up and go to that fireplace. I didn't know if I wanted to face the inevitable grief and sadness that I would feel when I stepped back into that castle – not only because of the painful memories, but because of the most recent events. I didn't want to accept that Professor Dumbledore was gone. And I knew that going back to that vast castle would only confirm my horror.

So I sat in contemplative silence for probably ten more minutes – I could hear other patrons and boarders walking around the hallway outside, hear the clink of whiskey and scotch bottles against glasses filled with ice. Did they all know what had just happened? I knew I could no longer postpone the inevitable. So with a sigh, I stood up from my bed and walked over to the fireplace, where a convenient pot of Floo Powder was resting on the mantle. I left my other belongings there, figuring I'd pick them up after the funeral. Then I took a handful of the powder, climbed into the grate, and said, "Hogsmeade Village!"

I was gone in a flurry and swirl of bright green flames as I spun round and round, traveling north to the quaint little village. When I emerged, dusty and dizzy, in the fireplace of the Three Broomsticks, I was met with a crowded pub, packed with witches and wizards I had never seen in the area before. Surely this small village couldn't hold this many people? And why would they all be gathering in the pub tonight?

"I haven't got many rooms left, so hold your horses!" I heard Madame Rosmerta screaming from the front of the room. So these people were booking rooms. Of course – for Dumbledore's funeral. My heart welled with sadness and gratitude at the overwhelming response of the Wizarding community. It had only been one day since the wizard's death, and already the village was filling itself up with patrons to pay their last respects.

I wedged my way through the packed crowd, and emerged frazzled out into the dark lane. I sucked in large amounts of the fresh summer air, looking upon the familiar sights, before beginning my trek up to the castle.

My feet crunched along the gravel as the towering castle loomed ever closer. It didn't take long for me to reach the great gates that towered in front of the grand entrance. My stomach dropped when I saw they were sealed shut. How was I supposed to get in? I hooked my arms through the bars experimentally, pushing at them, but they wouldn't budge.

"Hello?" I called desperately. "Anybody?" Silence. "HELLO?!" I shouted, but nothing happened. I leaned my head dejectedly against the wrought iron bars, twiddling with the wand in my pocket. I was sure that a mere Exploding Charm wouldn't do anything to the gates – I knew there were other protections and enchantments keeping the castle safe. But perhaps there was an alarm system of some kind? Maybe if I cast a spell to try and penetrate the gates' defenses, it might trigger some other kind of reaction, and alert Professor McGonagall or some other staff member.

It was worth a shot.

I took out my wand and pointed it straight at the Gryffin – shaped lock joining the two sides of the gate, and said, "_Bombarda!_" A blast shot out from the tip of my wand, shoving me back a few feet from the recoil of it. It hit the lock full force, but I saw the invisible barrier seemingly soak up the impact immediately. The gates glowed red as the spell was distributed harmlessly around it, and then faded back to black. I waited breathlessly for something to happen. It was so quiet here.

And then finally - _finally_, after I had almost given up hope, the great doors of the castle opened, casting a long strip of light to fall from within.

"Who's there?" Professor McGonagall's unmistakable voice called from the threshold.

"Professor? It's me! Astoria Greengrass!" I called up. The wizened old witch crept hastily down the steps and right up to the gates, but she didn't open them immediately.

"It really is me, Professor," I said earnestly, knowing she had every right to be suspicious. "Look, um," I searched my brain for something only the real me would know. "You gave me an 'E' on my last Transfiguration essay on shape shifting different objects, and I stayed after class to ask you what I had done wrong." It didn't seem like that was enough. "Ugh, okay. Um, when I got called up to Professor Dumbledore's office," my heart skipped a beat at the mention of the deceased wizard, "I couldn't get up to the office because the gargoyles weren't accepting my password. Then you came along and let me in." Her defenses were softening, but I could tell she was still wary. "Professor, I'm in love with Draco Malfoy! Please, trust me!" She tapped the lock with her wand and the gates slid open loudly. I squeezed my way through gratefully.

"What has happened to you?" she asked urgently as we swept back up to the castle.

"Bellatrix Lestrange and a few of her Death Eater pals kidnapped me," I said quietly. "The day I was supposed to go home for the Easter holidays. I was held captive at the Malfoy Manor until this morning."

"Are you alright? You should go visit the hospital wing," she said.

"I'm fine," I replied. "I'm just tired. It's been – it's been a really difficult experience."

"Ms. Greengrass, there is something you must know," Professor McGonagall started, her voice shaking slightly.

"I already know," I said, stopping her before she even started. "I saw everything."

"You saw-? What happened?" she asked urgently, stopping in her tracks.

I sighed. "Professor, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about this right now," I said, my head throbbing. "I'd really like to just get to bed if you don't mind?"

"Alright then," she said curtly, a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to divulge the details. "But we're going to have to talk tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is," I said, before turning and continuing my way to the Slytherin Common Room. Before I left, however, I turned around slowly. "Professor?" I asked softly, before she could go any farther. She turned around. "Do you – do you know when the funeral will be?" My voice was barely above a whisper. I was surprised she was able to hear it at all.

"We're still making arrangements," she said, just as softly. "It'll be soon, though."

"Okay." I turned once again and finally headed over to the Slytherin Common Room, up the stairs, into my dormitory, and finally, onto my soft, comfortable bed. I didn't want to think anymore. I didn't want to dwell on what had happened today. It was so hard to believe that just this morning I had woken up in Draco's arms. And now I wasn't sure if I'd ever feel his comforting embrace ever again.

I switched positions in my bed, curling up on my side with my arm supporting my head under my pillow, and stared at my closed bed curtains, my vision blurring as my eyes unfocused and refocused.

I just wanted to escape. So I closed my eyes and mercifully lost myself in the dark, unconscious abyss of my dreams.

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

I woke up late. I didn't know how late it was, but I could tell that it was late. If there was class, I would have probably missed it. But I didn't care anymore. And in any case, it wasn't very likely they would still be holding class after such a tragedy.

I didn't get out of bed for twenty minutes, it felt like. I just laid there. Not thinking. Not moving. Not feeling. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to start the day, because I knew it would be the first of many long, long days of this new world without Dumbledore, and without Draco. Getting on with my life only proved that I was still able to live without them; that life goes on even when it feels like it has ended for me. What was I supposed to do with myself? Where the hell do I go now?

My stomach growled painfully, and it felt like it was going to eat itself. With a resigned sigh, I got up and out of bed, knowing others out there were counting on me to keep going – knowing that neither Draco nor Dumbledore would want me to spend the rest of my days morose and unhappy.

After all – how are we supposed to appreciate the amazing moments in life if there weren't any bad ones? Right? I had to trust that I would see Draco again – it would be the only thing that would keep me going.

I trudged down the steps to the Slytherin Common Room, and made my way slowly up to the Great Hall. As I walked, people didn't hesitate to stare and oogle. I didn't really care why.

After weeks of captivity, and weeks of disgusting slop that served as my food, I should have been eager to get to the Hall and consume the amazing food that the elves in the kitchens prepared. But when I walked in, and the smell of the delicious breakfast items floated through my nostrils, I felt nauseous. I took a seat at the Slytherin table, but didn't bother putting anything on my plate. I knew I would only end up fiddling with it, and not actually eating anything.

I sat there, twirling a fork between my fingers, digging it into the wood of the table, as I leaned my head on my hand. I could hear whispers and see others still staring at me. Everyone looked as miserable as I felt, but they still had the energy to gossip and point. It irked me. But again, I was too tired to care.

"Ms. Greengrass?" Professor McGonagall's voice came from behind me. I looked up into her lined face. She looked as sad as she did last night, but had an air of authority about her – and it was only fitting. She was, after all, the new headmistress of the school. "Come with me, if you please," she said, gesturing for me to get up and follow her. I didn't really want to – but I knew she was dying for an explanation; I knew others were waiting for a full account of what really happened that night on the Astronomy Tower. So I followed her silently, thanking her mentally for giving me an escape from the gossiping students.

I followed her up to Dumbledore's office - _her_ office, now – and was met with the other Heads of Houses – Slughorn substituting for Snape. I wasn't surprised to see them all there – but I was slightly shocked to see someone else sitting in one of the chairs facing them.

He turned around and my icy green eyes locked with his penetrating emerald ones. He looked at me as though he barely recognized me. I broke eye contact and went to sit in the chair next to him, waiting for further instructions. I had no idea what he was doing here – but it was probably because he was so close to Dumbledore. Maybe he wanted to hear what I had to say.

"Both of you claim to have witnessed the events that – that night," Professor McGonagall began. Shocked, my head whipped around to stare, at the exact same time his did. Our eyes narrowed, but I really couldn't remember seeing him there. And obviously he didn't see me. It wasn't really a surprise that – well, that it was a surprise to find out we had both watched the scene unfold.

McGonagall turned to Harry first, and asked him to recount what had happened in as much detail as possible. So he began. He told of how Draco came up first and he and Dumbledore talked; how Fenrir and Bellatrix and the others followed shortly after. How Draco was just about to lower his wand when Snape burst in and finished the task himself. When Harry got to that part, he was so consumed with hatred and fury that he was shaking visibly. I was simply staring at the carpet. I had gotten past being angry. I was just so tired.

"Ms. Greengrass?" McGonagall called, once Harry was finished. I looked up. "Can you tell us what you saw?"

"Everything Harry said is true," I began. "But I wasn't really _there_ to witness it. At the Malfoy Manor, Voldemort had set up this kind of screen, and we were watching everything as though there was a camera filming it or something." I stated. Several of the teachers hissed, unable to believe that Voldemort was there.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was there? At the Malfoy Manor?" Professor Sprout whispered.

I nodded. "Yeah, we had a nice little chat," I said bitterly. I didn't want to confess that he had Crucioed me – I felt that would be a bit too dramatic. "Anyway, I saw a bit of what happened before the Astronomy Tower. It started when Bellatrix and the others were in Knockturn Alley, heading to Bourgin and Burkes. Then everything went black when they stepped inside the Vanishing Cabinet, and reappeared in the Room of Requirement. After that, the view followed Draco, and that's why I was able to see and hear everything that was exchanged between him and Dumbledore."

I don't know how long this little meeting lasted. The Professors asked question after question. I noticed Harry kept his mouth shut on certain occasions, refusing to give away what appeared to be confidential information between him and Dumbledore. I didn't blame him – everyone has their secrets. Finally, though, both of us were dismissed, and we walked out of the office and onto the winding spiral staircase together.

"So you're Malfoy's girlfriend," he said as we spun our way down.

"I was," I said softly, a lump forming in my throat. I looked away.

"Finally saw some sense, have you?" he said contemptuously – rather insensitively, in fact.

"No," I began, not really noticing his anger. "No, we're still very much in love. It's just – you know, given recent events – he figured it would be safer for me to be away from him."

"Oh," he said, slightly shocked.

"Look, I know you don't like him," I said as the staircase opened up and we stepped out into the hallway. "And I know he doesn't like you. But – I just – I just wanted you to know that I don't really care about that stuff. So please don't think ill of me just because I love him. I really do think you're a good guy – and a good wizard."

"Thanks," he mumbled. We continued to walk in silence. And then suddenly he said, "You were there."

"I'm sorry?" I asked, unable to comprehend what he had just stated.

"You were there, in the lavatory. That day. I saw you."

I looked down, knowing exactly what day he meant.

"Yes. You did see me."

"But – but I couldn't. Not really. You weren't really there."

"What was the date?" I asked, quite randomly.

"The 15th of May, I think. Why?" he asked.

"Two weeks," I whispered. I looked up at him. "I was captured on the first of May, right before Easter holiday. They put me in a room – a storage type room because there were loads of boxes filled with seemingly useless stuff. I found an old Potions book – and there was a potion for astral projection."

"Astral projection?" he repeated.

"Separating your spirit from your body," I explained. "Miraculously, I managed to gather up the necessary ingredients, and successfully brewed the potion. Kind of. Apparently the ingredients were too rancid or rotten to really make the potion work properly. That's why you couldn't hear me, and I was transparent."

"You have to know I didn't mean – I didn't know that the spell—" he began, but I cut him off.

"I know," I said softly. "I could tell from the look in your eyes that you didn't mean to hurt him like that. And he's alright, in any case. Or – as alright as one could be, under the circumstances."

We fell silent once more, our shoes clicking on the tile floor. The hallway was empty. I looked outside – there were people sitting on the grass and on various benches – but it was certainly not as cheerful and happy as it should be so close to the end of term. The entire castle seemed to be hushed; as though talking too loudly or even laughing was considered punishable.

"Listen," I said as we came to a stop in a hallway intersection. "I'm – I'm really sorry for everything. I know you were close to Dumbledore," tears began to well in my eyes as I recalled the wise old wizard's face and genial smile, "so I know this must not be easy for you." He looked away. "Take care of yourself, Harry," I said softly.

"You too," he mumbled. I gave him one last, sad look, before turning around and heading back to the Slytherin Common Room.

I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. The entire school seemed to be talking about what had happened to me [I guess it wasn't really a secret. But how did they knew all of the details?], and I was surrounded not only with grief and depression, but also gossip and curiosity. None of it seemed malevolent, at least. I wasn't receiving any scathing glares or mirthless laughter like I was so accustomed to receiving. It was more – pity. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to feel anything.

So I rushed back up to my dormitory and plopped back onto my bed, curling up on my side and staring at the closed curtains, just as I had been doing last night, and this morning.

I didn't feel like I deserved to feel this way. Everyone was grieving – everyone had lost someone. I didn't have any more right to be this depressed. But I just – I couldn't help it. I was alone – ripped apart from the comfort and security of love. I had no one left; I had nothing left. The rest of my life – my plans for the future – everything was screwed up, all because of Voldemort. He needed to be killed if I ever wanted some semblance of a normal, happy life.

I could only hope. I could never act. Something told me that was Harry Potter's job – his _destiny_. All I could do was sit back and hope for the best.

My mind wandered to Draco, despite my efforts to keep it away from him. I wondered what he was doing at this very minute. I hoped he was safe. It dawned upon me that I had no way of knowing. It wasn't like we could write to each other. We couldn't see each other. For all I knew, he could be tortured and I had no way of helping him; no way of knowing. My complete detachment from him made my mind go numb.

And then odd realizations seemed to creep their way into my mind. Draco had left the school far too quickly for him to pack his trunk and gather his belongings. Would he come back for them? Was there anything to come back for?

My heart pounded as I climbed out of bed and headed out of my dormitory. Everything was silent. I walked downstairs, knowing it was too much to hope for an empty Common Room. And indeed, there were people there, milling about, speaking quietly in hushed tones. Even the Slytherins seemed to be shaken about Dumbledore's death – though many of them weren't as grief-stricken as everyone else.

I climbed down the stairs quietly. No one noticed my silent steps. I stuck close to the wall, my eyes sweeping the area for anyone who could be watching. And then stealthily, silently, and quickly, I ran up the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. Phase one was over, but there was no guarantee that Draco's room would be empty. I needed to get there quickly, in case I encountered anyone on the staircase. I thanked Merlin for the nameplates on each door, announcing the occupants of each room. I found Draco's fairly quickly, coupled with, naturally, Crabbe, Goyle, and two other boys whose names I did not recognize.

Slowly I creaked open the door, looking through the crack to make sure no one else was in the room. Mercifully, it was empty.

I quickly slipped my way inside, shutting the door and locking it behind me.

**Chapter Forty**

The boys' dormitory looked completely identical to the girls'. If I hadn't known whose room this was, I probably might have mistaken it for my own. Except, of course, for the piles of rubbish and clutter and clothes all over the floor. This must have occurred over the course of last night or this morning, since the House Elves hadn't had a chance to tidy up.

The only thing that seemed remotely tidy – the only bed that hadn't been slept in – was the second bed from the right. I headed there first, my heart pounding as I considered what I might find in Draco's belongings.

I approached the trunk at the foot of the bed, and saw the two initials that confirmed my suspicions: _DM_. My hands trembled as they reached to lift the lid of the heavy trunk.

Inside were books – and lots of them. I sat down by the trunk and began pulling them out one by one – and noticed they all had the same common thing: repairing broken items. It must have been research he had been doing to fix the Vanishing Cabinet.

Underneath the books lay his clothes – new robes and crisp white shirts, a few Slytherin ties and a cloak or two. I carefully took these out as well, placing them carefully on his bed. But there were other things hidden underneath his stacks of clothing.

I reached in and pulled out sheets and sheets of sheet music, with his familiar scrawl all over it. His music. His writing. His work. There must have been ten or twelve different compositions there. I wasn't quite sure how the tunes went [I was horrible at reading music], but I only needed to read the lyrics, scrawled underneath each note: In a song titled 'Time Isn't Healing' - _'Cause time isn't healing/Pretty sick of staring at my ceiling/And I, I can't help the way I feel about you. / 'Cause time isn't healing/Pretty sick of staring at my ceiling. / And I, I can't help the way I've fallen for you._

And another one, called "We Belong": "_'Cause we belong in center of the sky/Where the only guests allowed/Are you and I/'Cause I found what I need to get through/It's all in the shape of you/In the words of my song that's where we belong."_

And another: "When Angels Come": _So when the angels take me from this world that I was born in, __/__I'll say, "None of you look half as good as my girlfriend in the morning."__ /__And when angels come to take me from this world./ I'll say, "None of you look half as good as my girl."_

My eyes welled up as I read line after line, lyric after lyric of his heartfelt music. I sighed, dropping my hands to my lap. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I didn't even know why I wanted to do this – it was only making me miss him more.

I put the music to the side, unable to look at it anymore. What was I even looking for? What was the whole point of this? To somehow seem closer to him? It wasn't as though I could take anything with me – someone would come around to fetch his stuff eventually.

And then it dawned on me – I could write him a message and hide it in his trunk - let him know that I was here, and I was thinking about him.

I rummaged around and found a quill and ink well, then grabbed the nearest piece of sheet music. Then, in small miniscule writing on the bottom margin, I wrote: "I love you. I miss you. Play this for me when we reunite. –A" Short. Sweet. To the point. Obviously I could have written so much more – but I didn't want it to be immediately noticeable. And though I knew no one else would be looking upon this piece of sheet music – I knew he was secretive of his music – I didn't want to take any chances.

With a sniffle and a leaked tear, I replaced everything in his trunk just as it had been when I first opened it. The enchanted window revealed the sun was going down – I vaguely registered that I was hungry. With a sigh, I stood up from my spot, my legs and bum tingling from numbness, and I walked to the door.

I cast one last look at Draco's tidy bed and sealed trunk, with my secret message safely hidden inside. It seemed like I was saying goodbye all over again. And then sadly, quietly, I slipped out of his room and down the stairs.

No one noticed me emerging from the boys' dormitory, thank goodness. And with another painful prod from my stomach, I headed up to the Great Hall to get something to eat.

The rest of the night passed by uneventfully, with me climbing into bed just after dinner and laying there until the darkness consumed my room. At dinner, Professor McGonagall announced that the funeral would take place the following day, and the Hogwarts Express was set to leave for London an hour after the service. The students in the Hall seemed to take it in stride – everyone appeared to still be in shock. The general demeanor of that night was subdued and quiet. Not many people ate much. No one really talked. People left and entered quietly. I had a feeling I wasn't the only one lying in bed, staring listlessly at my bed curtains.

Eventually, however, my lids closed and I sank into unconsciousness – if only for a few blissful hours where I didn't have to think or feel.

I woke up so much earlier than I was used to – not because anything really woke me up, but simply because my body told me it was time to get up. Silence poured in around me – I've had so much silence in the past few days. I didn't want to get up – I knew what today was.

But I couldn't miss it.

After getting dressed and packing the rest of my belongings in my trunk, I headed down to breakfast.

I didn't eat anything.

Soon enough, Professor McGonagall stood up from her chair and announced that it was time. We all filed out of the Hall respectfully and in good order. There was no chaos, no pushing or shoving or large crowds. It was uncharacteristic. Then again, everything about today was uncharacteristic. What could possibly be characteristic about burying your beloved headmaster?

We followed Professor McGonagall out to the shore of the Black Lake, where hundreds of white chairs had been laid out. There was an aisle in the center of them, and each section must have had fifteen chairs in each row. I saw that nearly half of the chairs had already been filled by a wide assortment of people – Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic; a few Ministry employees; Tom, the landlord at the Leaky Cauldron.

We filed into our seats. I deliberately fell behind, wanting to take one of the last few chairs – I didn't want to experience this funeral and have to be conscious of everyone else staring at me. As though I had something to do with this. As though I were somehow responsible.

Everything seemed so surreal – it was as though we were all gathering for some outdoor assembly, for some sort of announcement. But the white marble table at the very front bore unmistakable similarities to an altar. And, of course, you couldn't miss everyone's distraught faces.

Music came from out of nowhere – I had no idea where it was coming from. But then the heads all turned in one direction: they were all looking at the lake. I watched the still surface, but couldn't see much. It must have been the Merpeople.

And then movement made me look behind me – to the gargantuan half-giant gamekeeper, Hagrid, holding what could only be Dumbledore's body. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the bundle in the Care of Magical Creatures Professors' arms – wrapped in velvet the royal color of purple, sprinkled with stars.

The reality of the situation hit me like a bludger. Dumbledore was gone. That was his body – that was all that was left of him. No longer would he look upon me with that penetrating gaze; no longer would he encourage love in the most unlikely of places. No longer would his kind, gentle face and soft-spoken, yet authoritative voice grace our presence.

He was gone.

Could I have done things differently? Had I enforced my disapproval of Draco's plan, would it have changed things at all? Or was Snape always planning on killing Dumbledore? Was Draco's plan just the perfect cover – the perfect opportunity?

I felt like I had failed. Like Dumbledore's single intention in bringing Draco and I together was not just to fall in love, but to help distract Draco from his assignment _through_ that love. And I wasn't able to do that. I wasn't able to do the one thing that Dumbledore asked of me – whether directly or not.

Tears were falling fast down my chin and onto my dress robes as Hagrid made his way slowly down the aisle and finally set the frail body upon the white altar.

A small, tufty-haired man in black robes stood at the front. I didn't recognize who he was. He began to speak, but nothing he said really registered in my mind. The only words that repeated in my head over and over again were two of the most heartfelt, but most empty words I would ever say: "I'm sorry."

The little old man continued to speak, but the words didn't mean anything. Nothing could console the fact that the greatest wizard of all time was dead. My head throbbed and my chest ached from trying to keep my sobs quiet. I'd never been to a funeral before – then again, no one this close to me had ever died before.

The man finally stopped talking, and took one of the seats in the first row. And suddenly, bright, white flames erupted from the altar. I gasped in shock – were we really intended to witness a cremation? But as suddenly as the flames appeared, they disappeared, revealing a marble white tomb in its wake.

Arrows came seemingly out of no where, and my head darted in the direction from whence they came – I saw a vague outline of a herd of centaurs retreating.

So that was it. The crushing reality seemed so physical – it was as though I couldn't breathe because it all felt so real, and yet I didn't want it to feel this real. I was being suffocated. And as my gaze returned to the white marble tomb, there as no denying it ever again.

I sobbed, unable to contain myself any longer. Covering my mouth to keep them as hushed as possible, the tears streamed down my face. I felt like I was going to vomit. This couldn't be happening.

More than anything I wished Draco could be there – to hold me, to comfort me, to stroke my hair and tell me that everything was going to be okay. But he wasn't here. He couldn't be here – because this was his mission. This was his goal. This was what he was working so hard for all year. And though I know he didn't actually commit the act, there was no denying the fact that this was what he wanted.

_No_, I scolded myself in my head. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to kill Dumbledore. He _had_ to. And in the end, he didn't. That was the only thing that mattered.

I wondered what Draco would do if he were here – would he be crying like the rest of us? I know he didn't really care much for our Headmaster – but I didn't think he could be so callous as to not show emotion at his funeral.

But that was all speculation. The point was that Draco wasn't there. I was. What was I supposed to do to make everything better? Was there anything I could say that would erase this entire year? That would somehow lift all of this guilt off my chest?

I stood up and walked over to the long line gathering to pass by the tomb and pay their last respects. The only thing that could come into my head was "I'm sorry." And that just wasn't enough.

I hesitated, falling back in the line. I didn't want others to be around me when I said goodbye. And I needed more time.

I went off to the forest, stumbling slightly from the roots and rocks on the forest floor, to wait for the crowd to dissipate.

Forty minutes later, the crowd had dwindled. I knew the other students were gathering their things and heading to Hogsmeade station. I wouldn't be joining them – not because I wasn't going home [what home?] but because I was Flooing back to the Leaky Cauldron. I didn't need to catch the Hogwarts Express.

The sun was high in the sky by the time I walked back up to observe the pearly white tomb. The skies were clear and blue – again, it seemed like the weather was mocking us in our time of grief and distress.

A new wave of grief swept over me as my shaking fingers slid over the cold, smooth stone.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "So sorry." A few of my tears dripped onto the stone – they slid off smoothly. "Draco wishes he could be here," I continued, my voice high, tight, and soft. I paused, covering my mouth as a sob threatened to escape. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress my emotion. "Thank you," I whispered. "For everything."

I couldn't bear to look upon the immaculate tomb any longer – it only reminded me of how un-immaculate I was. I turned away from it quickly, running up the aisle and back to the castle. I didn't stop until I was in my dormitory, gathering my things.

**Chapter Forty-One**

Saying goodbye to the castle was entirely different than saying goodbye to Draco, or to Dumbledore. I knew I would be back next year. But at the same time, I knew things were never going to be the same. I knew I would never walk through those doors, or through those halls with the same mindset I had at the beginning of the year. Everything was different now.

Funny how one single year of your life could change everything. I never imagined this was how I would close the year. I never thought my life would be taken in this direction. But it was. And I had no choice but to cope, adapt, and see where else it was going to take me.

It was going to be hard. No one said it would be easy. But in the end, I would always be waiting for Draco. And the prospect of him being in my future was the driving force in me continuing in the present.

I walked slowly down the lane to Hogsmeade, where the witches and wizards who had traveled where also gathering. I didn't want to go through the crowd at the Three Broomsticks [which was out the door] and knew that any fireplace would do for me to Floo back home, so I kept going, off into The Hog's Head, a much more dilapidated bar, whose patrons looked dodgy and creepy.

The bartender looked up but I merely gestured toward the fireplace with a small apologetic smile. He grumbled and continued to wipe his grimy counter with an equally grimy cloth.

I walked over to the fireplace, stepped inside the grate, made sure my trunk was securely at my side and firmly in my hand, before taking a handful of powder and exclaiming "Room 17, The Leaky Cauldron!" And I was off, spinning and spinning, my trunk hitting my legs and side painfully.

And I was back in my room. Everything was exactly where I had left it. The sun was going down.

I stumbled out of the fireplace and dragged my trunk onto the hardwood floor with a thud. I figured it was a bit too late to call upon Charlotte that night – it would have to wait until morning. Which wasn't a problem. I still needed to think about whether or not I would tell her I was a witch.

Pros: She'd know my secret, so I wouldn't have to lie to her. I'd be able to tell her every single thing that happened to me. I'd have a real friend.

Cons: She might freak out. Might kick me out. Might scream that I was insane. Or, she could believe me, and in turn tell every living soul she encountered.

I doubted Charlotte would betray my trust like that – especially if I emphasized the importance of keeping it quiet. But was it a little too much to hope that she would accept and understand? Surely she'd still think I'd be a bit mad.

I plopped onto my bed, this one muskier and more firm than the one at Hogwarts – and stared out the window, thinking over my options.

To tell, or not to tell?

My mind swirled with the pros and cons of each situation, with the implications and dangers that I would be setting upon Charlotte – my closest friend.

But she was my closest friend. Doesn't she deserve to know? And with my life so completely devoid of friends, wouldn't it be wise for me to let her in, if only for a few months? I couldn't isolate myself forever. And I needed to talk to someone. I needed someone to tell me what to do; someone to tell me that things will look up. Because, though it may not be true, I just needed to hear it. It didn't count when I told myself.

I couldn't sleep. So I dug through my old things, reliving memories. My Hogwarts trunk was filled with my robes and schoolbooks – nothing really substantial, until I encountered a small, shiny red box with a white ribbon.

The necklace.

My hand shot to my throat to make sure the ballerina was still there – and my fingers encountered the smooth, cold surface of the pendant. I sighed, at least sure that this part of Draco was still here with me. I fingered the small box slightly, remembering the moment he gave it to me – remembering every detail of that day – that cold, yet so warm Christmas day.

I sighed, but no tears would come. I was fresh out – for now, anyway. I was still in shock, I suppose. So much had happened in such a small amount of time. I couldn't process everything.

I brought the little red box with me to bed. It was still in my hand when I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of a train rattling on the precarious tracks outside my room window. The shape of the box vaguely registered in my mind, and when I peeked my eyes open, the first glimpse I got was shiny, red, and white.

I squinted at the lovely box, smiling slightly as I remembered how happy I was that day. Then that smile slid off my face as I dropped my arm back down on the bed and I remembered everything that happened since that Christmas day. I sighed, staring up at the top of the bed. My heart pounded from the prospect of what I was going to do today. But it had to be done. I couldn't stay in the Leaky Cauldron forever – I didn't have enough money for that.

I sat up in bed, sitting there for a while as I got my bearings. And then I got up, gathered my things together, and left the room.

I'd paid for my room one extra night, but I let Tom keep the change, not really concerned about it. It wasn't as though I was really going to go shopping anytime soon. I walked out of The Leaky Cauldron with my trunk and luggage bag, and set off down Charing Cross Road to Charlotte's familiar house.

Over the course of my years at the dance studio, I'd made so many friends. And in my efforts to escape my household in years previous, I'd often spend days at their houses, alternating in turn. I hated that I could never invite them to mine – I felt like I was taking advantage of their hospitality.

And once more, I would have to intrude upon their lives again.

Charlotte was several years older than me – she was 21 and already living on her own. I looked to her like an older sister – a sister I'd always wanted. Charlotte cared about me; she was one of the first friends I'd ever made on that fateful day when I had walked into that dance studio as an 8 year old little girl. I felt like if I could trust anyone, it would be her.

So I walked. And I walked. We usually took a car to her house – I never realized how far away it really was. But it didn't matter to me. Walking helped clear my head. I must have looked pathetic, traveling with such heavy luggage.

And finally I arrived at her familiar house. I made my way past her gate and up onto her porch, hesitating for a few seconds, my fist poised just above the door. And then I sucked it up, and knocked.

It wasn't even a full minute before the door opened.

"Astoria?" she asked in confusion. "What are you doing here?" She didn't seem angry or irritated; just curious. And concerned. She glanced at my luggage, and then at me.

"Hey, Char," I said softly, hearing my voice for the first time that day. "Can I come in?"

She gave my luggage another glance, then gave me a sympathetic smile. "Of course," she said kindly, helping move my things into her house.

I smiled gratefully, and followed her into her home. "I'm sorry about this," I began, but she cut me off.

"You're one of my best friends, Astoria," she said. She dropped my luggage off in one corner of her large, light-filled sitting room, and then she put her hands on her hips, examining me. "You look like shit," she stated bluntly. I couldn't help but laugh.

"I missed you," I said, embracing her in a tight hug.

"You too, love," she replied. "Now – you show up at my doorstep with no phone call, after ten months of not hearing from you. And you look like you're carrying your entire life! Something is going on. Tell me what happened."

I sighed, pulling out of our hug and walking over to the couch.

"I think you should sit down," I began.

Concern swept over her features as she obeyed.

"I have to tell you something, Char. And it may be a little hard for you to believe."

As she took a seat and I gathered myself, I realized that I was embarking on a brand new chapter in my life.

Life goes on. And I didn't have a choice but to move on with it.

**The End**


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